Mireya Barrera no quería pelear.

Durante años, se sentó en las reuniones con los docentes de educación especial de su hijo, luchando por mantener una sonrisa mientras entendía poco de lo que decían. En las ocasiones poco comunes en que se pedía ayuda a otros docentes que hablaban el idioma de Barrera, el español, las conversaciones seguían siendo vacilantes porque no eran intérpretes calificados.

Pero cuando su hijo Ian entró en la escuela secundaria, Barrera decidió invitar a un voluntario bilingüe de una organización local sin ánimo de lucro para que se sentara con ella y recordara sus derechos al equipo escolar.

“Quería a alguien de mi lado”, dijo Barrera, cuyo hijo tiene autismo, a través de un intérprete. “Durante todo este tiempo, no nos estaban facilitando las cosas. Eso provocó muchas lágrimas”. 

Independientemente del idioma que hablen los padres en casa, tienen el derecho civil de recibir información importante de los educadores de sus hijos en un idioma que entiendan. En el caso de los estudiantes con discapacidad, la ley federal es aún más clara: las escuelas “deben tomar todas las medidas necesarias”, incluidos los servicios de interpretación y traducción, para que los padres puedan participar de forma significativa en la educación de sus hijos.

Pero, a veces, las escuelas de todo el país no prestan esos servicios.

Las familias que no hablan inglés se ven obligadas a asistir a las reuniones sobre el progreso de sus hijos sin poder opinar ni preguntar a los educadores cómo pueden ayudar. Las diferencias culturales y lingüísticas pueden convencer a algunos padres de no cuestionar lo que ocurre en la escuela, un desequilibrio de poder que, según los defensores, hace que algunos niños se queden sin un apoyo fundamental. En caso de ser necesario, no es infrecuente que las escuelas encarguen a los estudiantes bilingües la interpretación para sus familias, poniéndolos en la posición de describir sus propios defectos a sus padres y tutores.

“Eso es totalmente inapropiado, en todos los sentidos posibles, y poco realista”, dice Diane Smith Howard, abogada principal de la Red Nacional de Derechos de las Personas con Discapacidad. “Si al niño no le va especialmente bien en una asignatura académica, ¿por qué confiaría en que su hijo adolescente se lo contara?”.

Los distritos escolares culpan a la falta de recursos. Dicen que no tienen dinero para contratar a más intérpretes o a agencias de servicios lingüísticos y que, aunque lo tuvieran, no hay suficientes intérpretes calificados para hacer el trabajo.

En Washington y en algunos otros estados, la cuestión ha empezado a recibir más atención. Los legisladores estatales de Olympia presentaron este año una ley bipartidista para reforzar los derechos civiles federales en el código estatal. Los sindicatos de docentes de Seattle y Chicago negociaron recientemente, y consiguieron, servicios de interpretación durante las reuniones de educación especial. Y los distritos escolares se enfrentan a una creciente amenaza de demandas de los padres, o incluso a una investigación federal, si no se toman en serio el acceso lingüístico.

Aun así, los esfuerzos por ampliar el acceso lingüístico en la educación especial se enfrentan a una ardua batalla, debido al escaso número de intérpretes capacitados, la falta de cumplimiento a nivel estatal y el escaso financiamiento del Congreso (a pesar de que en 1974 prometió cubrir casi la mitad del costo adicional que supone para las escuelas proporcionar servicios de educación especial, el gobierno federal nunca lo ha hecho). El proyecto de ley bipartidista de Washington para ofrecer más protecciones a las familias fracasó repentinamente, después de que los legisladores estatales lo despojaran de disposiciones clave y los defensores retiraran su apoyo.

El sistema de educación especial puede ser “increíblemente difícil para todos”, dijo Ramona Hattendorf, directora de defensa de The Arc of King County, que promueve los derechos de las personas con discapacidad. “Luego todo se agrava cuando se introduce el idioma en la mezcla”. En todo el país, aproximadamente 1 de cada 10 estudiantes que califican para recibir servicios de educación especial también se identifican como estudiantes de inglés, según datos federales de educación, y esa proporción está creciendo. Cerca de 791,000 estudiantes de inglés participaron en educación especial en 2020, un aumento de casi el 30 % desde 2012. En más de una docena de estados, incluido Washington, el aumento fue aún mayor.

A medida que crece su número, también aumenta la frustración de sus padres con los servicios lingüísticos.

Durante el año escolar 2021-22, la defensora del pueblo en materia educación del estado de Washington recibió casi 1,200 quejas de los padres sobre las escuelas. Su principal preocupación, en todos los grupos raciales y demográficos, fue el acceso y la inclusión en la educación especial. La defensora del pueblo principal en materia de educación, Jinju Park, calcula que entre el 50 % y el 70 % de las llamadas que recibe la agencia son sobre educación especial, y que el 80 % de ellas son de clientes que necesitan servicios de interpretación.

Mientras que la mayoría de los estados conceden a las escuelas un máximo de 60 días desde que se remite a un estudiante a los servicios de educación especial para determinar si califica, las escuelas de Washington pueden tardar hasta medio año escolar. Y si un padre necesita servicios de interpretación o traducción, la espera puede durar aún más.

“Las leyes actuales no apoyan la participación plena de los padres”, escribió Park a los legisladores estatales en apoyo a la primera versión del proyecto de ley 1305 de la Cámara de Representantes, propuesta que finalmente fracasó. “Los padres para los que el inglés puede que no sea su lengua materna”, añadió, “a menudo, se ven abrumados por la información e incapaces de participar de forma significativa en el proceso”.

Barrera, cuyo hijo asistió al distrito escolar de Auburn, al sur de Seattle, dijo que, a menudo, se sentía excluida de su aprendizaje.

En el kínder, tras el diagnóstico de autismo de Ian, su equipo de educación especial llegó a la conclusión de que necesitaba un paraeducador asignado a tiempo completo, dijo Barrera. Recurrió a Google Translate y a otros padres para que la ayudaran a redactar correos electrónicos preguntando por qué no recibió ese apoyo hasta tercer grado. Sus solicitudes de copias traducidas de documentos legales quedaron en gran parte sin respuesta, mencionó, hasta que un director le dijo que la traducción era demasiado costosa.

Cuando Ian entró en la escuela secundaria, el acoso escolar y su seguridad se convirtieron en la principal preocupación de Barrera. Una vez llegó a casa sin un mechón de pelo, cuenta. A pesar de las repetidas llamadas y correos electrónicos a sus docentes, Barrera dijo que nunca recibió una explicación.

Además, cuando pidió ir a la escuela para observar, un docente le dijo: “Ni siquiera habla inglés. ¿Qué sentido tiene?”. Vicki Alonzo, portavoz del distrito de Auburn, afirma que el auge de la población inmigrante en la región en los últimos años ha llevado al distrito a destinar más recursos a ayudar a las familias cuya lengua materna no es el inglés. Casi un tercio de sus estudiantes son multilingües, dijo, y hablan alrededor de 85 idiomas diferentes en casa.

En el año 2019-20, el distrito gastó alrededor de $175,000 en servicios de interpretación y traducción, dijo; el año escolar pasado, esa cifra fue de más de $450,000.

Alonzo señaló que el distrito no recibió financiamiento adicional para esos servicios, que incluyeron alrededor de 1,500 reuniones con intérpretes y la traducción de más de 3,000 páginas de documentos.

El problema del acceso lingüístico es “un fenómeno nacional”, dijo Smith Howard, de la Red Nacional de Derechos de las Personas con Discapacidad. “Es un problema de recursos y también una cuestión de respeto, dignidad y comprensión, que todos los padres deberían recibir”.

Los docentes también están frustrados.

El sindicato de docentes de Seattle protestó y retrasó el inicio de las clases el año pasado por unas demandas que incluían servicios de interpretación y traducción en educación especial. El contrato final, que dura hasta 2025, exige que los miembros del personal tengan acceso a diversos servicios que proporcionen traducción telefónica (un intérprete en directo) o de texto (en el caso de documentos escritos). El objetivo de esta disposición es garantizar que no se pida al personal bilingüe que traduzca si no forma parte de su trabajo.

Los docentes dicen que estas herramientas han sido útiles, pero solo en cierta medida: en ocasiones poco comunes hay intérpretes telefónicos disponibles para los idiomas menos comunes, como el amárico, y son frecuentes los problemas técnicos, como la interrupción de las llamadas.

La disponibilidad de intérpretes “no es tan constante como nos gustaría”, afirma Ibi Holiday, docente de educación especial de la escuela primaria Rising Star de Seattle.

También hay una cuestión de contexto. Es posible que los traductores no tengan experiencia en educación especial, por lo que las familias pueden salir de una reunión sin entender todas las opciones, lo cual puede ralentizar el proceso significativamente.

“Para muchas familias, la escuela de su país funciona de forma completamente diferente”, explica Mari Rico, directora del Centro de Desarrollo Infantil Jose Marti de El Centro de la Raza, un programa bilingüe de educación temprana. “Traducir no bastaba; tenía que enseñarles el sistema”.

Muchas escuelas del distrito de Seattle cuentan con personal multilingüe, pero el número y la diversidad de idiomas hablados no es constante, afirma Rico. Y existe un mayor riesgo de que el caso de un estudiante se pase por alto o se estanque debido a las barreras lingüísticas. Dijo que ha tenido que intervenir cuando las familias han pasado meses sin una reunión del programa de educación individualizada, incluso cuando su hijo estaba recibiendo servicios.

Hattendorf, de The Arc del condado de King, dijo que las soluciones tecnológicas más económicas, como las que utiliza Seattle, ofrecen cierta ayuda, pero su calidad varía mucho. Y los servicios pueden no ofrecer a los padres tiempo suficiente para procesar información complicada y hacer preguntas de seguimiento, explicó.

Al sur de Seattle, los Barrera decidieron cambiar a Ian de escuela secundaria.

Se graduó este año, pero la ley federal garantiza sus servicios de educación especial tres años más. Ian asiste ahora a un programa de transición para estudiantes con discapacidad, donde aprenderá habilidades para la vida, como conseguir un trabajo.

“Sabemos que, con ayuda, puede hacer lo que quiera”, dijo Barrera.

Ya, añadió, “todo es diferente. Los docentes intentan encontrar la mejor manera de comunicarse conmigo”.

Este artículo sobre los servicios de interpretación fue elaborado por The Hechinger Report, una organización de noticias independiente y sin ánimo de lucro centrada en la desigualdad y la innovación en la educación, en colaboración con The Seattle Times.

The post Los padres de estudiantes de educación especial que no hablan inglés se enfrentan a otro obstáculo appeared first on The Hechinger Report.

Growing numbers of students need special education services. Yet there are fewer qualified clinicians who are willing and able to work in school buildings full time.

There is a new solution that exists, one that many other sectors have embraced: A hybrid, more flexible workforce.

The number of students deemed to need special education services increased by nearly a million students over the last decade, and it now makes up 15 percent of all public school enrollments.

The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics estimates a 19 percent growth in demand for speech language pathologists and a 12 percent growth in demand for occupational therapists over the next decade.

Since the start of the pandemic, more than two-thirds of public schools have reported increases in students seeking mental health services.

The effects of these strains on resources are far-reaching. Students and families are left waiting for critical services, while staffers are faced with ever-growing caseloads that lead to burnout and, in some cases, departure from the profession.

Students in low-income areas are already the least likely to have access to special education and early intervention services — a challenge exacerbated by staffing shortages.

Teletherapy services, provided online via live videoconferencing, were commonly used during the pandemic months when schools were shuttered and students needed connection with their therapists.

Related: Teletherapy has been powering virtual special education for years

Once clinicians learned how to work online, many embraced teletherapy, finding that it brought focus to their time with children and offered exciting new ways to engage in their sessions. A significant number of U.S. public school districts relied on it to provide critical special education services including psychological evaluations, speech therapy and occupational therapy to their students.

But when schools reopened, many prioritized a return to fully in-person services. Even though clinicians were ready to change how and where they worked, most schools were not. In discussions I’ve had with school leaders, many regarded teletherapy as an emergency stopgap, and in my view, that was a mistake.

Returning to the old ways of doing things just hasn’t worked. Many schools that dug in on resuming in-person services with no exceptions have been unable to fill vacancies across their special education teams.

And, for example, annual data from the American Speech-Language-Hearing Association shows that despite growing student needs, the percentage of certified speech language pathologists working in schools has been declining steadily for over a decade.

With staff shortages in critical areas, backlogs and compensatory time (to make up for services not provided) have been building up, signaling a need for a better solution.

Some districts are now turning to teletherapy services for special education as more than a temporary pandemic-era solution.

Some districts are now turning to teletherapy services for special education as more than a temporary pandemic-era solution, and are creating true hybrid service models, in which schools strategically utilize their in-person staff for emergent issues or high-need students, while virtual therapists provide support for ongoing special education service needs.

Data from my organization, Presence, a provider of teletherapy solutions, shows that some of the nation’s largest districts, and at least 10,000 forward-thinking schools, have adopted a hybrid model to ensure support for students, clinicians and school and district leaders.

With the capability to deliver a portion of services online, districts can offer services and stability for students regardless of their zip code. The hybrid model also enables school administrators to increase capacity and balance workloads by retaining great therapists while adding more diversity and deeper specialties to the talent pool.

For example, Newberg-Dundee Public Schools in Oregon embraced teletherapy to assess and address the needs of their students faster and have since seen positive results. Teachers in the district told us that many students appear to be more eager to attend their teletherapy sessions. They said that students often seem more focused in the dedicated virtual setting and less distracted.

District officials say parents are now requesting teletherapy services for their children because they’ve seen such great progress.

Related: These parents want more virtual learning. New Jersey says they’re on their own

In addition to supporting students and school administrators, teletherapy serves the providers themselves. The model embraces working remotely from home, with flexible hours, including part-time.

Many of those drawn to teletherapy are working mothers seeking to reduce time outside the home and retirees who want to continue the work they love in a reduced capacity.

The thousands of clinicians who have embraced teletherapy find that when they remove themselves from day-to-day burdens inside the school building, they are better able to focus on their clinical work and target their students’ specific needs.

A hybrid staffing model alone isn’t a cure-all to address students’ increasing needs or to reverse widespread school staff shortages. But as schools search for solutions to address these issues, embracing a combination of in-person staff and remote specialists offers promise.

Kate Eberle Walker is CEO of Presence, the leading provider of teletherapy solutions for children with diverse needs.

This story about teletherapy in schools was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for Hechinger’s newsletter.

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In 2017, public interest lawyers sued California because they claimed that too many low-income Black and Hispanic children weren’t learning to read at school. Filed on behalf of families and teachers at three schools with pitiful reading test scores, the suit was an effort to establish a constitutional right to read. However, before the courts resolved that legal question, the litigants settled the case in 2020. 

The settlement itself was noteworthy. The state agreed to give an extra $50 million to 75 elementary schools with the worst reading scores in the state to improve how they were teaching reading. Targeted at children who were just learning to read in kindergarten through third grade, the settlement amounted to a little more than $1,000 extra per student. Teachers were trained in evidence-based ways of teaching reading, including an emphasis on phonics and vocabulary. (A few of the 75 original schools didn’t participate or closed down.)

A pair of Stanford University education researchers studied whether the settlement made a difference, and their conclusion was that yes, it did. Third graders’ reading scores in 2022 and 2023 rose relative to their peers at comparable schools that weren’t eligible for the settlement payments. Researchers equated the gains to an extra 25 percent of a year of learning.

This right-to-read settlement took place during the pandemic when school closures led to learning losses; reading scores had declined sharply statewide and nationwide. However, test scores were strikingly stable at the schools that benefited from the settlement. More than 30 percent of the third graders at these lowest performing schools continued to reach Level 2 or higher on the California state reading tests, about the same as in 2019. Third grade reading scores slid at comparison schools between 2019 and 2022 and only began to recover in 2023. (Level 2 equates to slightly below grade-level proficiency with “standard nearly met” but is above the lowest Level 1 “standard not met.”) State testing of all students doesn’t begin until third grade and so there was no standard measure for younger kindergarten, first and second graders.

The settlement’s benefits can seem small. The majority of children in these schools still cannot read well. Even with these reading improvements, more than 65 percent of the students still scored at the lowest of the four levels on the state’s reading test.  But their reading gains are meaningful in the context of a real-life classroom experience for more than 7,000 third graders over two years, not merely a laboratory experiment or a small pilot program. The researchers characterized the reading improvements as larger than those seen in 90 percent of large-scale classroom interventions, according to a 2023 study. They also conducted a cost-benefit analysis and determined that the $50 million literacy program created by the settlement was 13 times more effective than a typical dollar spent at schools. 

“I wouldn’t call the results super large. I would call them cost effective,” said Jennifer Jennings, a sociologist at Princeton University who was not involved in the study, but attended a presentation of the working paper in November. 

The working paper, “The Achievement Effects of Scaling Early Literacy Reforms,” was posted to the website of the Annenberg Institute for School Reform at Brown University on Dec. 4, 2023. It has not yet been published in a peer-reviewed journal, and may still be revised.

Thomas Dee, an economist at Stanford University’s Graduate School of Education who conducted the analysis with doctoral student Sarah Novicoff, says that the reading improvements at the weakest schools in California bolster the evidence for the so-called “science of reading” approach, which has become associated with phonics instruction, but also includes pre-phonics sound awareness, reading fluency, vocabulary building and comprehension skills. Thus far, the best real-world evidence for the science of reading comes from Mississippi, where reading scores dramatically improved after schools changed how they taught reading. But there’s also been a debate over whether the state’s policy to hold weak readers back in third grade has been a bigger driver of the test score gains than the instructional changes. 

The structure of the right-to-read settlement offers a possible blueprint for how to bring evidence-based teaching practices into more classrooms, says Stanford’s Dee. School administrators and teachers both received training in the science of reading approach, but then schools were given the freedom to create their own plans and spend their share of the settlement funds as they saw fit within certain guidelines. The Sacramento County Office of Education served as an outside administrator, approving plans and overseeing them.

“How to drive research to inform practice within schools and within classrooms is the central problem we face in education policy,” said Dee. “When I look at this program, it’s an interesting push and pull of how to do that. Schools were encouraged to do their own planning and tailor what they were doing to their own circumstances. But they also had oversight from a state-designated agency that made sure the money was getting where it was supposed to, that they were doing things in a well-conceived way.”  

Some schools hired reading coaches to work with teachers on a regular basis. Others hired more aides to tutor children in small groups. Schools generally elected to spend most of the settlement money on salaries for new staff and extra compensation for current teachers to undergo retraining and less on new instructional materials, such as books or curriculums. By contrast, New York City’s current effort to reform reading instruction began with new curriculum requirements and teachers are complaining that they haven’t received the training to make the new curriculum work.

It’s unclear if this combination of retraining and money would be as effective in typical schools. The lowest performing schools that received the money tended to be staffed by many younger, rookie teachers who were still learning their craft. These new teachers may have been more open to adopting a new science of reading approach than veteran teachers who have years of experience teaching another way. 

That teacher retraining victory may foretell a short-lived success story for the students in these schools. The reason that there were so many new teachers is because teachers quickly burn out and quit high-poverty schools. The newly trained teachers in the science of reading may soon quit too. There’s a risk that all the investment in better teaching could soon evaporate. I’ll be curious to see their reading scores a few years from now.

This story about the right to read settlement was written by Jill Barshay and produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for the Hechinger newsletter.

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It pains Tim Odegard that four decades after a misguided approach to diagnosing dyslexia kept him from getting help in school, thousands of children across the U.S. are needlessly suffering for the same reason.

During the initial weeks of first grade, Odegard’s struggles with reading went undetected as he memorized words that classmates read aloud before him. The strategy worked so well that his teacher moved him to the position of “first reader.” It then became apparent that the six-year-old not only wasn’t the strongest reader in the class—he couldn’t read at all. The teacher dispatched him to a low-skill group. “It just kind of went downhill from there,” Odegard, now 47, recalled.

Through sheer determination and reliance on his prodigious memory, Odegard eventually memorized enough words to get by and earned decent grades, although they would never come easily. “I compensated for my reading and spelling problems by staying up until 1 or 2 a.m. to get things done,” he said. He never received extra help or special education services from his Houston-area school district. Instead, a couple of teachers seemed to doubt his intelligence. When Odegard was the first student in his school to solve a complex murder mystery puzzle, one of them said he must have guessed.

It wasn’t until he was in his late 20s that Odegard came to understand why his teachers thought so poorly of his abilities. In 2004, as a new Ph.D., he told his mother that the National Institutes of Health had awarded him a postdoctoral fellowship to study dyslexia, a condition he’d long suspected he had. She shared that when he was in third grade, school officials had used a so-called discrepancy model that compared intelligence quotient (IQ) with reading performance to rule that he didn’t have a learning disability.

“I was thought to be too stupid to be dyslexic,” said Odegard, now editor in chief of the Annals of Dyslexia and chair of excellence in dyslexic studies at Middle Tennessee State University in Murfreesboro, Tennessee.

Up to around 20 percent of the U.S. population has dyslexia, a neurological condition that makes it difficult to decipher and spell written words. Someone with the disability might omit short words such as “and” and “the” while reading aloud, for example, or read “dog” as “god”—even if they speak normally in conversation. The condition impedes a person’s ability to process written information and can negatively affect their career and well-being. Yet only a fraction of affected students get a dyslexia diagnosis or the specialized assistance that can help them manage their difficulty reading.

One reason so many diagnoses are missed is that thousands of schools in the U.S. continue to use an iteration of the discrepancy model to test children for learning disabilities. Moreover, for a multitude of reasons, including biases in IQ tests, a disproportionate number of those diagnosed—and helped—have been white and middle- to upper-class.

“It’s unfair, it’s discriminatory, and it disadvantages already economically disadvantaged kids,” said Jack Fletcher, co-founder of the Texas Center for Learning Disabilities in Houston and one of the first scientists to question the discrepancy model’s validity.

The model has shaped decades of policy regarding whose literacy is considered vital and worthy of extra help and investment—and whose is not. It is rooted in long-standing misconceptions about dyslexia. Reforming how the condition is defined and diagnosed could help many more children learn to read.

Speaking comes naturally to most children, being a gift of human evolution, but reading and writing are inventions that must be consciously and painstakingly learned. No one is born with neural circuits for connecting the sounds of speech to squiggles on paper. Instead, when someone learns to read, their brain improvises, splicing and joining sections of preexisting circuits for processing vision and speech to form a new “reading circuit.” To read the (written) word “dog,” for example, a typical brain will disaggregate the word into its constituent letters, “d,” “o” and “g,” and then summon from memory the sound fragments, or phonemes, associated with each letter. It aggregates these phonemes into the sound “dog” and retrieves the meaning of the word that matches that sound. Most brains eventually learn to do all these steps so fast that the action seems automatic. Some written words become so familiar that the speech circuit eventually gets bypassed, so that there is a direct association between the word as seen on paper or on a screen and its meaning.

Because human brains are organized in diverse ways, some people’s reading circuits end up being inefficient. Dyslexia is the most common reading disability. People with the condition, which is partly linked to genetics, often have less gray matter and brain activity in the parietotemporal region of the brain’s left hemisphere, associated with connecting the sounds of speech to the shapes of printed text.

The severity and manifestations of dyslexia can vary from person to person, but children with the learning disability benefit most from early help with explications of the sound structures underlying words. For those who continue to struggle in school, the ideal instruction is one-on-one or in a small group with a trained teacher who provides intensive and systematic assistance in making connections between written words and sounds. Learning the rules—and the many, many exceptions—of the English language is particularly important, because children with dyslexia are typically unable to pick them up through mere exposure to text. The letter “a” can be pronounced five different ways in English, whereas in Spanish, for instance, vowels almost always have the same pronunciation.

With the right kind of instruction, most children with dyslexia can learn how to read. In part because of an accident of scientific history, however, this essential assistance has been far more available to kids who score higher on IQ and other cognitive tests. An early case report of dyslexia, published in the British Medical Journal in 1896, helped to define the disorder as an unexpected deficit in otherwise “bright” children. The study described a 14-year-old referred to as Percy F. “He has always been a bright and intelligent boy, quick at games, and in no way inferior to others,” wrote the doctor who examined Percy, “yet in writing from dictation he comes to grief over any but the simplest words.”

Related: While white students get specialists, struggling Black and Latino readers often get left on their own

That incipient definition characterized a lot of early thinking about dyslexia. It was inadvertently codified in school systems through influential studies led by British psychiatrists Michael Rutter and William Yule on the Isle of Wight in the 1960s and early 1970s.

 Rutter and Yule are well regarded for being among the first in the field to focus deeply on children and for their groundbreaking work in autism and post-traumatic stress disorder. When devising a definition of “reading disability” based on the population of nine- to 11-year-olds on the island, the researchers distinguished between poor readers who read at levels predicted by their IQs and those who did not, looking for evidence of dyslexia only in those in the latter group.

The studies came just as the U.S. was creating its own special education categories and definitions to prepare for the passage of the Education for All Handicapped Children Act in 1975. When it came to learning disabilities, experts relied heavily on the idea that for a learning disability to be present, reading performance had to fall short of IQ.

Guidelines put out by the U.S. government in 1977 asked that schools look for a “severe discrepancy between levels of ability and achievement” when screening children for learning disabilities. Thus, a child’s IQ scores, which rank cognitive abilities such as reasoning, began to play an outsize role in determining countless students’ educational fates. Specifically, if the IQ score wasn’t high enough and, in consequence, the gap wasn’t big enough, the child wasn’t diagnosed with a reading disability. Despite the fact that most youngsters can learn to read regardless of their IQ score, those with lower scores were often assumed to lack the “smarts” to read well.

An IQ test kept Sandra Chittenden’s daughter from getting the right help for years. The girl learned new words slowly and struggled to pronounce them correctly, mixing up similar-sounding words. In kindergarten she had no interest in letters and sounds, and she couldn’t easily see the similarities and differences across words on a page. Having a mild form of dyslexia herself and with an older son who is severely dyslexic, Chittenden, who is a special education advocate in Vermont, asked the school district to evaluate the girl for a reading disability.

The five-year-old was promptly given an IQ test. She posted an average overall score and a below-average score on a reading achievement test. But the gap between the two scores didn’t meet the cutoff of 15 points, so the girl was not given appropriate reading services in her school. The same thing happened when Chittenden requested another evaluation when her daughter was in first grade.

For the child, the results were wounding. During her first couple of years of elementary school “her nervous system was like a pressure cooker because she wasn’t being given appropriate help,” Chittenden said. “She held it together all day at school and then would explode.”

In third grade, the girl was diagnosed with a learning disability in math, and the school added a dyslexia diagnosis because of her continued struggles with both arithmetic and reading. But for years, Chittenden says, “I remember it being really frustrating knowing my child had dyslexia and not being able to get the right help.” As of this year, partly in response to parental concerns, Vermont is no longer using the discrepancy model to diagnose learning disabilities.

Researchers pointed out problems with the discrepancy model even before its use became prevalent in the U.S. Fletcher, an early critic, noted a methodological issue in the Isle of Wight studies: they did not exclude children with intellectual disabilities or brain injuries. Yet by some accounts there was an unusually large number of neurologically impaired subjects on the island at the time, resulting in a skewed sample.

It has also long been clear that IQ tests can be biased against Black or low-income students, as well as many others, because they contain language and content that is more familiar to white middle- and upper-income students. Researchers began to observe inequitable results in the late 1970s as American public schools began evaluating more children to comply with the mandates of the federal special education law, since renamed the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act.

 As a research assistant at the University of Minnesota, Mark Shinn said he saw how the discrepancy model disproportionately prevented children from low-income families, English learners and students of color from getting help. “You had all these kids in high-poverty schools with [below average] cognitive ability of 90 and 80, and the schools could throw up their hands and say, ‘They are too “slow” to benefit [from services],’” recalled Shinn, now a professor emeritus of school psychology at National Louis University in Chicago. Yet “it was well known that poor kids…earned low scores on cognitive tests largely because of a lack of opportunities and experiences.”

In the 1980s, educational psychologist Linda Siegel, now an emeritus professor at the University of British Columbia, began investigating some of these anecdotal suspicions. In an influential 1994 publication, she noted that the main distinction between children with a reading disability and those without was not their IQs, but the way their minds processed written words.

“The basic assumption that underlies decades of classification in research and educational practice regarding reading disabilities is becoming increasingly untenable,” she and her co-author wrote. In the same issue of the Journal of Educational Psychology, Fletcher and his colleagues observed that the “cognitive profiles” of poor readers who met the discrepancy definition and of those who didn’t were more similar than different. The key to diagnosing reading disabilities, they wrote, would be to instead measure “deficiencies in phonological awareness,” the ability to recognize and work with phonemes in spoken language.

Related: NAACP targets a new civil rights issue—reading

Since then, the scientific consensus against the discrepancy model has grown. One study found that regardless of their IQ, poor readers benefit from specialized reading instruction and support at statistically identical levels. Another used magnetic resonance imaging to show the same reduced brain-activation patterns in the left hemisphere (compared with those of typical readers) in weak school-age readers who were asked whether two written words rhymed—regardless of whether the weak readers met discrepancy criteria. Neuroscientist Fumiko Hoeft, who supervised the study at Stanford University’s Center for Interdisciplinary Brain Sciences Research, says it bolsters the idea that the discrepancy method makes an arbitrary distinction among different groups of poor readers. In fact, “dyslexia can occur in people of high, middle and low cognitive abilities,” noted Nadine Gaab, an associate professor at the Harvard Graduate School of Education.

By the 2000s, ample scientific evidence indicated the arbitrariness of IQ’s use as a basis for a dyslexia diagnosis. And there were mounting concerns that the discrepancy model was fundamentally racist and classist: it disproportionately prevented low-income children and children of color from getting help with learning disabilities. In 2004, the federal government reversed course on its 1970s guidance, strongly recommending that states consider alternatives.

 “I would…encourage this commission to drive a stake through the heart of this overreliance on the discrepancy model for determining the kinds of children that need services,” psychologist Wade Horn, then U.S. assistant secretary for children and families, told a panel of experts tasked with revising special education law in the early 2000s. “I’ve wondered for 25 years why it is that we continue to use it.”

But a 2018 study found that about one third of school psychologists were still using the discrepancy model to screen students for learning disabilities. And although most contemporary specialists concur that dyslexia is unrelated to intelligence, many of the most widely used definitions still refer to it as an “unexpected” disorder.

“These definitional issues are not trivial, because they drive research, they drive funding, they drive assessment, they drive everything,” said Julie Washington, a professor in the School of Education at the University of California, Irvine, whose research focuses on the intersection of language, literacy and poverty in African American children.

Even as more states and school districts move away from the discrepancy model, many researchers are concerned that they too often are replacing it with an equally problematic system. Often referred to as patterns of strengths and weaknesses or by Odegard as “discrepancy 2.0,” this method continues to rely heavily on cognitive tests and still calls for significant gaps between ability and performance for a student to qualify as having a learning disability. “Schools still want simple formulas and put way too much emphasis on the testing,” Fletcher said.

Twice in elementary school, Texas student Marcelo Ruiz, who lives just north of Houston, was denied a dyslexia diagnosis because of “discrepancy 2.0.” He had high cognitive scores, but evaluators said he did not show skill gaps in the areas he needed to qualify as dyslexic. School got harder and harder for Ruiz, and in high school he was still inverting letters and having trouble with reading. In the fall of 2022, his senior year, the teenager finally got a dyslexia diagnosis, but by then it was far too late to give him the help he had long craved. Because of his mediocre grades, Ruiz says, he had difficulty getting admitted into four-year colleges; he is currently at a community college and hoping to transfer. “Growing up, I felt stupid,” the 18-year-old says. “My grades kept going down, and I didn’t know what was wrong with me. It was really demotivating not knowing what I had and what you could do for it, not being able to get help.”

Texas mother Kodie Bates fought a similar battle on behalf of her sons—with the district reversing its opinion on whether the children had dyslexia. Both boys were diagnosed at the age of 7 with dyslexia using a method that still relied on testing and principles similar to the discrepancy model. However, the district did not provide any special education services. So in 2019, Bates began to push for an individualized education program, or IEP, that would delineate specific reading supports for her older son.

The district fought back, and a year ago, when her older son was 12, tried to reverse its own dyslexia diagnoses.

In a 34-page report provided by Bates and a special education advocate, the diagnostician for the Hooks Independent School District in northeastern Texas cited low cognitive scores in most areas for the older boy, arguing that the family’s decision to homeschool him may have impaired his cognitive abilities. “He does not have an unexpected (deficit)… Everything is in the below average range—to have dyslexia there has to be an unexpected (deficit) and I did not find one,” the diagnostician said, according to a transcript of a meeting held to discuss the report.”

“First they didn’t want to give him the services, and now they want to say that he is not even dyslexic—he’s just not smart,” Bates says. “It’s just not fair to take away a disability.” Last spring, an independent evaluator paid for by the district determined that her sons were, in fact, dyslexic as the district originally had found. Bates said she was grateful that the school is now offering services but has decided to keep homeschooling her sons with the support of online reading specialists.            

“The boys are old enough now to be uncomfortable in such an environment and I don’t blame them one bit,” she said in an email.

They “are hesitant,” she added, “and let down.”

According to several researchers, a better—though hardly perfect—approach to assessing children for learning disabilities is “response to intervention,” or RTI. In this method, teachers intervene early with struggling readers and monitor how they respond to help, making a referral for special education services after what one research paper dubbed a “student’s failure to respond to treatment.”

Some states already require exclusive use of RTI, although it can be hard to implement because teachers have to be well trained in what interventions to administer and how to determine whether they are working. When teachers do make a referral for special education services, there’s often still a question of how—and whether—to make a learning disability determination.

For this reason, some experts in the field say they would like to see more no-cost or low-cost access to the kind of testing that qualified neuropsychologists do: assessing a child’s capacity for and speed at the many components that make up successful reading. (One bill pending in New York State would mandate that private health-care plans pay for neuropsychological exams focused on dyslexia.) The specifics can look quite different for a seven-year-old than for a high school student, Gaab explained. But generally, experts say testing should be used to gauge such skills as a child’s ability to recognize “sight words” (common words that often come up in reading), to sound out “nonsense” words that follow the rules of the English language but are not actual words, and to read under timed conditions and spell words correctly in their writing.

Related: Want your child to receive better reading help in public school? It might cost $7,500

It isn’t out of the question for school districts to do this type of testing on their own—and some of the best-resourced ones already do, or they contract with an outside neuropsychologist. But for most school psychologists, it would represent a departure from decades of training and practice focused on the administration of IQ and cognitive tests. The discrepancy model is “easier” because a child either meets the cutoff or doesn’t.

“It reminds me of leeching blood,” said Tiffany Hogan, a professor and director of the Speech & Language Literacy Lab at the MGH Institute of Health Professions in Boston. “They did that for a long time knowing it wasn’t the best way, but there was no replacement.”

Another largely overlooked reason for the continued prevalence of discrepancy-based testing may be that the families most hurt by it are the least powerful in terms of their influence over public school practice and policy. Many schools feel pressure, both covert and overt, to not identify children with dyslexia because there aren’t enough specialists or teachers trained to work with them. Families with money, power and privilege can negotiate with the district more effectively to meet their child’s needs or hire an advocate or lawyer to lobby on their behalf. If diagnosis and help still remain elusive, they can pay for private neuropsychological exams, which can cost thousands of dollars. They also can, and often do, circumvent the public system entirely by hiring private reading tutors or sending their children to private schools focused on reading remediation. (Often these schools also use the discrepancy model to determine whom to admit.) For all these reasons, as well as the discrepancy model’s bias favoring high IQ scores, dyslexia has long had a reputation as a “privileged” diagnosis.

The dyslexia advocacy community has in some states also been predominantly white and financially privileged, with low-income families and parents of color more likely to fear the stigma of a disability diagnosis. “Historically, we don’t talk about learning disabilities and mental health in the Black community because there’s a stigma and shame attached to it,” said Winifred Winston, a Baltimore mother who hosts the Black and Dyslexic podcast. “Enslaved people could not show any sign of weakness or perceived weakness. So we have a history of being ‘okay’…(even) when we are in fact not okay or do require assistance.”

Partly through the leadership of parents such as Winston, that’s changing as more families learn about reading disabilities and the extra support a diagnosis can bring.

Now 71 and 81, respectively, Jack Fletcher and Linda Siegel are still fighting to get children equal access to essential help in learning how to read. They are part of a broad-based effort seeking to strengthen access to general reading instruction for all so that fewer students get held back by learning disabilities or need intensive reading remediation. Many states are doing just that, with a growing number passing legislation promoting the “science of reading,” which emphasizes explicit and systematic instruction in phonics. Early screening for language challenges in the youngest grades is also key.

Still, Odegard said he regularly hears from families frustrated that their kids were disqualified from reading services for the same reason he was testing determined that they are not “smart” enough to be dyslexic. Odegard isn’t surprised that his own IQ was below average, given the correlation to socioeconomic status. His parents had modest-paying jobs in retail and neither had a college education. 

The idea of distributing limited, extra help to students with high cognitive scores has deep roots in an American psyche “built off a mindset that somehow there are people who are chosen to move forward and some that are not,” Odegard added. It’s not dissimilar to “gifted” programs for children with high IQs or dual language programs that are only accessible to students with above average reading abilities. It’s the early, often irreversible, accrual of opportunity based on a limited, highly fallible notion of human potential.

Over the years, Odegard says, some colleagues and friends have remarked that, given his success, the experience must have made him stronger—a characterization he resents. “It wasn’t a gift,” he said. “I don’t see any of those challenges of having to stay up later and work five times harder as helpful.” Growing up, “I had a huge chip on my shoulder.”

On reflection, though, Odegard says there was perhaps one benefit to his early educational struggles. “If there was any gift I got from dyslexia, it was to have a lot of compassion and empathy,” he asserted, “because I could never hide in school that I couldn’t read and spell.” 

Reporting on this piece was supported by the O’Brien Fellowship in Public Service Journalism at Marquette University and the Russell Sage Visiting Journalist Fellowship.

This story about the discrepancy model was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for the Hechinger newsletter.

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After an elder passed away recently in their community, the students at Dzantik’i Heeni Middle School in Dzántik’i Héeni, the Tlingit name for Juneau, Alaska, got to work creating a special gift.

Using skills they’d learned in their computer science lessons, the students designed a traditional button blanket on a laser cutting machine. “They found a meaningful way to apply all of that skill and knowledge that they have learned and in such a way that it was authentic,” said Luke Fortier, the school librarian and math teacher.

Fortier’s school participates in a program operated by the American Indian Science and Engineering Society to expand access to computer science and science, technology engineering and math, or STEM, among Native American, Alaska Native and Pacific Islander students. The program trains educators at K-12 schools whose students include Native children on different ways they can introduce young people to programming, robotics and coding.

But computer science lessons like the ones at Dzantik’i Heeni Middle School are relatively rare. Despite calls from major employers and education leaders to expand K-12 computer science instruction in response to the workforce’s increasing reliance on digital technology, access to the subject remains low — particularly for Native American students. 

Only 67 percent of Native American students attend a school that offers a computer science course, the lowest percentage of any demographic group, according to a new study from the nonprofit Code.org. A recent report from the Kapor Foundation and the American Indian Science and Engineering Society, or AISES, takes a deep look at why Native students’ access to computer and technology courses in K-12 is so low, and examines the consequences.

Director of “seeding innovation” at the Kapor Foundation and report coauthor Frieda McAlear, who is Native Alaskan of the Inupiaq tribe, said the study “forefronts the context of the violence of centuries of colonization and its continuing impacts on Native people and tribal communities as the driver of disparities in Native representation in tech and computing.” 

Schools serving higher proportions of Native students are more likely to be small institutions that lack space, funding and teachers trained in computer science, according to the report. In addition, many Native students attend schools that may lack the hardware, software and high-speed internet needed for these classes.

Even when the instruction is available, courses often lack cultural relevance that would allow Native students to authentically engage with the material, the report says.

Given the history of settler colonialism and the use of Native boarding schools that sought to erase Native identity, making sure that students’ tribal knowledge and traditions are celebrated and integrated into the curriculum will allow students to succeed, the report’s authors say.

“For Native young people and Native professionals to be excluded systematically from the computing and tech ecosystem, it really means that they don’t have access both to the wealth generation possibilities of tech careers, but also access to creating technology tools and applications that can support the continual thriving and growth of cultural and language revitalization in our tribal communities,” McAlear said.

“For Native young people and Native professionals to be excluded systematically from the computing and tech ecosystem, it really means that they don’t have access both to the wealth generation possibilities of tech careers, but also access to creating technology tools and applications that can support the continual thriving and growth of cultural and language revitalization in our tribal communities.”

Frieda McAlear, director of “seeding innovation” at the Kapor Foundation and report coauthor

The situation isn’t much better at the post-secondary level, according to report co-author and director of research and career support for AISES, Tiffany Smith, a citizen of the Cherokee Nation and a descendant of the Muscogee (Creek) Nation. Since 2020, Native student enrollment in computer science courses has declined at most two-year and four-year institutions, she said, even as more students overall have received degrees in the subject. Part of the reason is that Native students don’t necessarily see a place for themselves and their culture in tech classes and spaces at predominantly white institutions, Smith said.

But the relatively few Native students who do graduate with these degrees are making significant contributions to their communities, according to Smith. She noted that graduates are using their computer science knowledge and emerging technologies to help revitalize Native languages and alleviate other issues tribal nation communities face, including climate change, biases in data collection and poverty. 

Because tribal nations are at the forefront of job growth and development in their communities, they “should be considered critical partners in the future of the technology sector,” the report’s authors write.

The report calls for more investment in training Native educators to teach computer science and related fields, and integrating Indigenous culture, traditions and languages into those classes.

A 4-year-old program run jointly by the Kapor Foundation and AISES, for example, partners with school districts and Native-serving schools to develop tribe-specific culturally relevant computer science curriculum. That instruction doesn’t only happen in computer science class, said McAlear. The program’s staff work with schools to develop project-based, culturally relevant computer science lessons that are woven into other classes including science, language and history.

In Fortier’s district, students in science classes were recently tasked with using robots to code the life cycle of a salmon. Through that activity they gained knowledge of their local tribal economies while being introduced to new tech, he said.

Before the pandemic, Fortier’s school had eliminated some computer science and technology courses due to budget cuts. But with federal Covid relief funding, along with grants from Sealaska Heritage Institute, a nonprofit arm of a regional Native corporation, and programmatic support from AISES, the school was able to restore some of that instruction.*

Fortier said he believes these courses are essential for his students — not necessarily because they’ll have to learn all the latest cutting-edge technology for their future careers, but so they can use contemporary methods to share Native practices, knowledge and skills with the wider community.

“We can learn a lot from the elders in the traditional knowledge,” he said. “But our kids need to apply it in a new, modern, meaningful way. They need to be able to communicate to and within the world.”

*Correction: This sentence has been updated with the correct version of Sealaska Heritage Institute’s name.

This story about computer science access was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for Hechinger’s newsletter

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JEFFERSON PARISH, La. — El año escolar de la escuela primaria Washington concluyó a las 2:35 pm de un caluroso martes de mayo. Aun así, Malaysia Robertson, de 9 años, permaneció afuera del plantel.

Ella había pasado la mayor parte de su vida en la pequeña escuela pública de este suburbio de Nuevo Orleans, donde vive con su abuela. Su escuela no volvería a abrir sus puertas al comienzo del nuevo año escolar en septiembre. Al igual que miles de otros estudiantes del distrito escolar más grande de Luisiana, a ella se le asignó a un nuevo colegio como parte de un plan de consolidación que afecta a casi uno de cada 10 estudiantes afroamericanos como Malaysia. Esta es una cifra desproporcionada.

En ese último día de clases, ella no quería despedirse. 

“Íbamos corriendo por los pasillos llorando y todo eso”, dijo Malaysia, recordando su último día en tercer grado. El estacionamiento seguía lleno de estudiantes, familias y maestros mucho después de la 4 p.m., todos abrazándose antes de salir de la escuela por última vez.

La decisión de la junta escolar de cerrar 6 escuelas permanentemente ha estremecido a Jefferson Parish, donde la inscripción de estudiantes en escuelas públicas disminuyó casi un 10% desde el inicio de la pandemia.

Esta disminución empeoró casi una década de avances en el distrito, en la que se buscó revitalizar la inscripción escolar después del huracán Katrina. Los funcionarios del distrito han dicho que los cierres de escuelas son una respuesta necesaria a la disminución de la población estudiantil. Datos del distrito muestran que aproximadamente 1 de 3 cupos permanecieron vacantes el año escolar pasado y varios edificios albergaron a menos de la mitad de los estudiantes para los cuales fueron diseñados.

“Tenemos escuelas poco utilizadas — eso es un hecho”, explicó el vicepresidente de la junta escolar Derrick Shepherd durante una votación en abril. “Las cifras no se pueden cambiar”.

 El distrito volvió a dibujar su mapa para distribuir a los alumnos en una manera que requiere que muchos estudiantes deban viajar fuera de sus vecindarios y más lejos de casa. Los oficiales explicaron que los nuevos mapas hacen que las rutas de transporte por autobús sean más estables y que ninguno de sus maestros se quedará sin empleo. Pero la decisión ha enfurecido a los líderes comunitarios y abogados de derechos civiles, quienes dicen que los cierres no son solo dañinos para familias como la de Malasia, sino además son discriminatorios.

A pesar de que los estudiantes blancos representan casi un cuarto de los estudiantes del distrito, según los datos estatales de inscripción escolar estos solo representan al 12% de los estudiantes afectados por los cierres de escuelas. El plan que la junta escolar aprobó, el cual se diseñó teniendo en cuenta cuáles instalaciones escolares tenían más espacio sin usar y su estado, cerró dos escuelas secundarias con alto rendimiento escolar en las cuales la mayoría de los estudiantes eran hispanos y afroamericanos.

Como resultado cientos de estudiantes hispanos y afroamericanos serán asignados a escuelas de rendimiento más bajo el próximo año escolar, repitiendo para algunas familias el pasado de racismo y segregación del distrito.

“¿Quién se va beneficiar de todo este proceso? No serán los niños afromericanos y latinos”, dijo Debra Houston Edwards, de 77 años, quien se graduó de Washington hace más de sesenta años y comenzó a trabajar para el distrito en la década de los ochenta y fue una de las pocas administradoras afroamericanas en aquel entonces. “No hay equidad en lo que está pasando.”

Shepherd y el presidente de la junta escolar, Ralph Brandt, no respondieron a las solicitudes de comentario para esta nota. En un correo electrónico, la persona encargada de comunicaciones del distrito señaló a una página en línea sobre los cierres pero no respondió a preguntas.

La organización sin ánimo de lucro, El Southern Poverty Law Center SPLC (por sus siglas en inglés), presentó una denuncia por incumplimiento a los derechos civiles al departamento de educación, donde alegan que los cierres discriminan a los estudiantes basados en su raza y que el distrito falló en compartir información sobre los cierres con familias que tienen un dominio limitado de inglés. En una segunda denuncia, SPLC alega que los cierres son parte de una tendencia de discriminación racial generalizada, y de otros tipos , contra algunos estudiantes.

El departamento no ha anunciado una investigación a raíz de estas denuncias.

Mientras tanto, a los expertos les preocupa que los distritos escolares en todo el país pronto enfrenten problemas parecidos. A nivel nacional, más de un millón de alumnos no regresaron a escuelas públicas después de la pandemia. Algunos se matricularon en colegios privados, otros comenzaron a recibir educación en su hogar y otros simplemente desaparecieron, dijo Thomas S. Dee, profesor en la escuela de posgrado en educación de la Universidad Standford. Dado la  disminución de tasas de nacimiento, el departamento de educación estima que la inscripción a nivel nacional en escuelas públicas va a bajar un 5% o más para el 2031. Este es un descenso drástico después de décadas en las que la matrícula ha sido creciente.

“Va a haber un ajuste de cuentas para muchos distritos escolares que no han reconocido su nueva realidad”, agrega Dee, quien estudia el éxodo de las escuelas públicas. Él anticipa que muchos distritos se verán obligados a considerar el cierre de escuelas.

Este debate sobre el cierre de escuelas y cómo hacerlo, también es sobre para identificar cuáles cuáles estudiantes tendrán que asumir las cargas. Hasta ahora los estudiantes hispanos y afroamercanos se han visto afectados de forma desproporcionada. Investigadores académicos y defensores les preocupa que la decreciente inscripción en las escuelas públicas, y los cierres que probablemente seguirán, intensifican la desigualdad académica  en la educación pública.

“Los siguientes 10 años van a estar repletos de este tipo de historias”, dijo Douglas N. Harris, presidente del departamento de economía en la Universidad Tulane y director del Centro Nacional de Investigación sobre Acceso y Elección en Educación. Al analizar cierres de escuelas y tendencias de reestructuración en todo el país durante los últimos 30 años, Harris encontró que escuelas con altos porcentajes de estudiantes de color tenian una probablidad mas alta de cerrarr que las que tienen una mayoría de estudiantes blancos.

Harris explicó que esto a veces ocurre por desigualdades históricas, como cuando colegios donde asisten más estudiantes de color reciben menos inversión a largo plazo y terminan con resultados bajos en los exámenes y edificios deteriorados. Eso puede empeorar la baja inscripción, y al considerar el rendimiento escolar y el panorama financiero, puede hacer parecer que cerrar la escuela es una opción sensata.

Pero incluso cuando Harris y sus co-investigadores compararon escuelas con niveles de inscripción y rendimiento parecido, las de mayor cantidad de estudiantes de color y de bajos ingresos seguían siendo las más propensas a cerrar. Investigaciones previamente realizadas por el Centro de Investigación sobre Resultados en la Educación de Stanford revelaron hallazgos similares al observar que de entre las escuelas con bajo rendimiento académico, las que tienen una mayor proporción de estudiantes hispanos y afroamericanos tienen mayor probabilidad de cerrar cuando se las compara con las que tienen más alumnos blancos, aunque tengan una clasificación similar.

Para la tía de Malaysia, Cheryl Earl, la decisión de la junta ha sido devastadora. Su hija mayor se mudó a Washington hace dos años y su hija menor comenzó el primer grado en esa escuela el año pasado. Igual que Malaysia, sus niñas prosperaron en la escuela comunitaria de 240 estudiantes.

Antes de transferirse a Washington para el cuarto grado, la niña mayor de Earl, Ce’Vanne Ursin, le había dicho a su mamá que odiaba la escuela. “No podía esperar llegar al doceavo grado para abandonar la escuela”, recordó Earl. Pero Ce’Vanne cambió de opinión en Washington. Para el quinto grado fue seleccionada para el programa de estudiantes dotados y talentosos. Al finalizar el año escolar, fue nombrada maestra de ceremonias para la graduación final, un puesto codiciado entre los estudiantes.

“Antes pensaba que era tonta, pero realmente no lo soy”, dijo Ce’Vanne, de 12 años. “Washington me hizo sentir cómoda. Me hizo sentir que todos en la escuela eran mis amigos y familiares”.

Ce’Vanne dijo sentirse afortunada de formar parte de la última generación que se graduará en Washington. Pero el cierre significa que su hermana de ocho años, Canyon Sunday, no tendrá la misma experiencia. En cambio, el distrito asignó a Canyon a cursos el segundo grado en el  mismo colegio donde Ce’Vanne tuvo malas experiencias, antes de ir a Washington. Su madre dijo que está demasiado cicatrizada  por el tiempo de Ce’Vanne en esa escuela como para enviar a su hermana menor allí, por lo cual decidió inscribir a ambas niñas en una escuela privada católica cercana.

Cuando las escuelas cierran, el efecto dominó dura años, explica Molly F. Gordon, quien fue científica investigadora del Consorcio de Investigación Escolar en la Universidad de Chicago. El rendimiento académico de los estudiantes sufre, algunas familias optan por mudarse a medida que sus vecindarios se vuelven menos deseables, y como consecuencia se borran historias importantes.

Después de que Chicago cerró casi 50 escuelas públicas en el 2013, Gordon y su equipo siguieron los resultados de los estudiantes afectados. Incluso antes de que ocurrieran los cierres, durante el año que se anunciaron, la lectura y matemáticas de los estudiantes afectados sufrieron y los estudiantes quedaron retrasados por meses comparados con los estudiantes de escuelas que permanecieron abiertas.

“Los estudiantes que venían de las escuelas cerradas sentían que habían perdido algo, porque lo perdieron”, dijo Gordon, ahora científica investigadora senior en el Centro Nacional de Investigación de Opinión en la Universidad de Chicago. “Ellos estaban viviendo un duelo”.

Los cierres en Chicago tenían el objetivo de ahorrarle dinero al distrito y cerrar escuelas con bajo rendimiento, donde casi exclusivamente asistían estudiantes hispanos y afromericanos. Los funcionarios prometieron que el cambio resultaría en colocar a esos estudiantes en escuelas con mejor rendimiento académico. Una investigación del periódico The Chicago Sun Times y la estación local de radio WBEZ descubrió que una década después muchos de los beneficios anunciados con el cierre masivo, hasta la fecha, nunca se materializaron.

Los estudiantes de las escuelas cerradas no mostraron mejor rendimiento académico que los alumnos de escuelas parecidas que permanecieron abiertas, y su índice de graduación era ligeramente más bajo que el de estudiantes de las escuelas comparadas, por debajo del promedio del distrito escolar. Y, a pesar de que el cambio recortó costos, los ahorros probablemente fueron mucho menores de lo que originalmente habían calculado los funcionarios. 

La pregunta que permanece es una que le plantean frecuentemente a Marguerite Roza, directora del Edunomics Lab en la Universidad de Georgetown: ¿Con pocos recursos y la disminución cifras de inscripción, que deben hacer los distritos escolares?

Roza enfatiza dos factores esenciales para limitar la interrupción: planear con anticipación y darle prioridad al rendimiento. Esencialmente, al cerrar escuelas se debe beneficiar a todos los estudiantes del distrito; y liberar recursos para usarlos en personal y programas. Pero para asegurarse de eso, los distritos deben prestar atención especial a los estudiantes a los que reubican, cambiándolos a escuelas de mejor rendimiento y siendo transparentes al explicarle a las familias el razonamiento tras el cambio.

Pero en Jefferson Parish, los datos estatales del rendimiento muestran que este no ha sido el caso. Mientras los estudiantes de primaria serán incorporados a escuelas de alta clasificación, los de secundaria enfrentan una realidad distinta. El nuevo plan cerrará las escuelas secundarias que ocupaban el segundo y tercer lugar de rendimiento en el distrito -un paso que “desafía la lógica” dijo Roza. .

Una de esas escuelas es la secundaria Grace King, donde los dos nietos de Lillie Magee, residente por largo tiempo de Jefferson Parish, completaron el décimo y undécimo grado en mayo. La escuela estaba compuesta en su mayoría por estudiantes hispanos y afroamericanos, como los nietos de Magee, y todos parecían llevarse bien, dijo ella.

Magee siente que sus nietos, a quienes cuidaba, estaban seguros dentro de las paredes de la escuela. Ella conocía a sus profesores y entrenadores y había asistido a juegos de fútbol americano, llena de pasión y orgullo escolar. Ahora, ella se preocupa de que al reasignar a muchos estudiantes de Grace King a su antigua escuela secundaria rival resulte en violencia y peleas. Sus chicos han perdido la escuela que conocían, y ella ha perdido la comunidad en la que confiaba para mantenerlos a salvo.

“La forma en que nos trataron, fue simplemente muy injusta”, dijo Magee. La escuela a la que asistirá su nieto mayor el próximo año está clasificada como la segunda peor del distrito en términos de rendimiento.

Mientras tanto, en la primaria Washington, los edificios están oscuros y vacíos, el césped exterior está descuidado y lleno de basura. Un mes después del cierre, un incendio arrasó el edificio que albergaba el gimnasio y la cafetería, dejando escombros esparcidos sobre las largas mesas donde los maestros habían organizado un desayuno de graduación semanas antes. Ahora, las ventanas siguen cubiertas con madera y las puertas exteriores están cerradas con llave.

El momento del incendio, que la policía dijo que parecía haberse originado como un incendio eléctrico, dejó a muchos miembros de la comunidad con sospechas. El distrito ahora planea vender el terreno, permitiendo que el futuro comprador restaure o derribe la escuela.

Debra Houston Edwards, la anterior administradora del distrito, espera que al menos los edificios puedan ser salvados, dado su importancia histórica y para que puedan seguir sirviendo como centro para la comunidad.

A principios de la década de 1930, el abuelo de Edwards y otros cinco hombres del condado que vivían en la ribera Este del río Mississippi pidieron a la junta escolar que abriera una escuela secundaria para estudiantes afroamericanos en la zona. Pero la junta les dijo que era su responsabilidad: tendrían que comprar el terreno y cubrir parte de los costos de construcción. En respuesta, la comunidad recaudó fondos de puerta en puerta. En 1936, se convirtió en la primera escuela en la ribera este donde los niños afroamericanos podían recibir una educación superior al octavo grado.

“Nadie más tuvo que hacerlo excepto nosotros”, dijo Edwards, quien ha conservado la historia de la escuela en recortes de periódico antiguos y fotografías que se desvanecen. “Y aquí estamos de nuevo, pasando por el mismo proceso”.

A principios del mes pasado, Edwards y un grupo de miembros de la comunidad ofrecieron comprar la escuela por un dólar, esencialmente solicitando a la junta escolar donara el terreno, un sitio “por el que nuestros antepasados ya han pagado”, escribió el grupo en una carta a Brandt, el presidente de la junta.

Pero el grupo dijo que no ha recibido una respuesta formal. En una declaración a los medios de comunicación locales  Brandt dijo que la junta está “legalmente obligada a buscar el valor justo de mercado” por cualquier propiedad que tenga la intención de vender.

Cuando Malaysia se imagina el nuevo año escolar ella dice que siente esperanza. Varios de sus profesores se van a mudar con ella al nuevo colegio y ella espera que varios de sus compañeros de clase la acompañen en el nuevo edificio desconocido.

Pero para su abuela, Angie Robertson, es un mundo diferente – un vecindario en el cual no viven y una comunidad a la cual no pertenecen.

“Tenía profesores allá,” en Washington, “que era como parte de la familia”, dijo Robertson, quien también va a enseñar en el programa de aprendizaje temprano del Head Strart de la escuela. “Para mí, yo siento que ese era el hogar fuera del hogar de los niños”.

Ahora, ese hogar ha desaparecido.

Este artículo acerca del cierre de escuelas en Louisiana fue producido por The Hechinger Report, una organización de noticias independiente sin fines de lucro enfocada en la desigualdad y la innovación en la educación. Lea sus otros artículos en español.

The post Se acerca un precipicio de cierres de escuelas. Los estudiantes hispanos y afroamericanos son los más propensos a sufrir las consecuencias. appeared first on The Hechinger Report.

Hope Reed saw stark disparities in math classes at Blythewood High School about a decade ago.

At the school, in suburban Columbia, South Carolina, nearly half of students were white. In the freshman remedial math classes, however, almost all the students were Black. Many of those in the remedial classes came from lower-income families. 

Reed, then chair of the school’s math department, intervened. She wanted to experiment with detracking, or eliminating classes that separated students by level.

She started with a small test.

In 2013, she took on leading a ninth-grade remedial class and taught nearly 50 students the regular Algebra 1 curriculum.

“You’re in honors class, so you’re gonna do honors work,” she recalled telling them. 

At the end of the year, about 90 percent of the students passed. 

The success of that single class spurred Reed to expand the program. Rather than sorting ninth graders with high test scores into Algebra 1 and giving those with lower test scores remedial instruction, the school enrolled everyone into Algebra 1 classes. 

That year, 90 percent of Blythewood students passed the Algebra 1 end-of-course exam, an increase from the previous year’s passage rate of 87 percent. The average score for Black students on the exam was 80, up two points from the year prior. Meanwhile, the average for white students was 83, an increase by less than one point from the year prior.

The experiment convinced Reed that detracking math classes could be a key component in narrowing achievement gaps between student groups.  

Gaps between how minority students perform academically in comparison to their white peers have long been an issue across the country. The disparities often stem from larger structural issues — a lack of access to quality curricula, for instance, or teachers expecting students to perform poorly. 

Recently, the gaps have worsened in the wake of the pandemic and its disruptions to learning.

“It’s like ironing a shirt. When you run the iron over one time, some wrinkles fall out but when you run it back over the second time, it’s crisp. That’s what it did for them.”

Hope Reed, former chair of Blythewood High School math department

Math scores for Black 13-year-olds had dropped by 13 points between the 2019-20 school year and the 2022-23 school year, shows the latest data from the National Assessment of Educational Progress, often referred to as the nation’s report card. White students had a six-point decrease between the three years.

As a result, the difference between Black and white students’ scores widened from 35 points in 2020 to 42 points in 2023.

Addressing those disparities is more critical than ever then, for both strengthening students’ understanding of math and increasing their opportunities to higher-paying jobs in STEM fields. And nearly a decade ago, Reed’s experiment with detracking showed some promise as an aid. 

Related: Why it matters that Americans are comparatively bad at math

Step into any American school and you’ll most likely find tracked classes, especially for math.

Tracking students took root during the 20th century. Following immigration waves, desegregation orders and the inclusion of special education students in classes, tracking grew in use and separated those students deemed fit for higher learning at college from those who were viewed as less intelligent and only capable of learning a trade or craft, said Kevin Welner, an educational policy professor at the University of Colorado Boulder. 

As a result, tracking reflected the country’s larger societal inequalities then and it continues to do so today given some students, often from marginalized backgrounds, come to kindergarten or first grade already with measured achievement gaps. 

While offering students more support in a separate class may sound ideal, lower-level classes often linger on remediation and watered down curricula. That exacerbates opportunity and achievement gaps, Welner said. 

Tracked systems are also fairly rigid, he added. Students placed in higher tracks have the flexibility to move down to a lower track if necessary, but few students in lower tracks have the opportunity to advance to the higher track.

Detracking, in theory, then aims to level the playing field by exposing students to the same higher concepts and standards. 

“If you have kids who are really struggling at mathematics, they really need to be identified and probably treated differently in terms of curriculum and instruction than kids who are just sailing through math courses.”

Tom Loveless, an education researcher and former senior fellow at the Brookings Institution

Welner said studies of schools that have detracked classes show that achievement gaps have been narrowed to varying levels of success. Students who would have been otherwise placed in lower-track classes improve academically, while students who would have been in a higher track see no significant differences in their performances, he added. 

Welner pointed to the Rockville Centre school district on Long Island, N.Y., as the gold standard for detracking. In the ‘90s, the district got rid of many tracked classes in its middle school and high school, and provided significant professional development for teachers so they could properly handle students of varying levels in the same classroom. As a result, the district has seen more students take more advanced classes later in high school.

Ultimately, Welner views tracking as a structural tool that places obstacles in the way of learning for kids in lower-track classes. Detracking alone doesn’t improve student achievement, but it addresses those obstacles.

“It’s just removing the harm,” he said.

Related: How Texas plans to make access to advanced math more equitable

When Reed expanded detracking across ninth-grade math classes in the 2014-15 school year at Blythewood High, the effort involved more than just bringing all students together into several Algebra 1 courses. 

One key component to Reed’s detracking program was the math seminar, an additional class period required for students who would have otherwise been placed in lower-level math classes. Students took the seminar in the morning, where they would pre-learn Algebra 1 lessons, as Reed said, and then they took their Algebra 1 class later in the day with the other students. 

The additional learning time offered yet another boost in confidence for students, Reed said. By the time they arrived in their Algebra 1 class, she joked those students thought they were geniuses. Teachers would ask questions during lessons and students would eagerly answer.  

“It’s like ironing a shirt. When you run the iron over one time, some wrinkles fall out but when you run it back over the second time, it’s crisp. That’s what it did for them,” Reed said. “They didn’t go in there just blindsided, lost.”

The goal was always to keep the students focused on progressing ahead in concepts rather than pausing and slowing down to remediate. 

The math seminar also ensured that, for students who would have regularly been placed in a higher-level class, lessons did not slow down their learning. 

Kianna Livingston was one of the ninth-graders enrolled in the math seminar and detracked Algebra 1 in 2014-15. She initially believed she wasn’t good at math, but saw her skills grow through the two classes.

Livingston, who is Black, also said she saw how the class instilled confidence in herself and other Black ninth-graders at the school; the classes gave the students attention and access to support many hadn’t had previously. Livingston recalled feeling so assured of her knowledge that she would help other students during the Algebra 1 course.

“It really allowed me to really own my leadership skills,” she said.

By the end of the school year — and to her surprise — she had been recommended for Honors Geometry for the following year. 

Related: Is it time to stop segregating kids by ability in middle school math?  

Still, tracking seeped back into Blythewood’s math classes, partially out of necessity.

Despite the support from the math seminar, a small group of students continued to struggle with the material, Reed said. By the middle of the 2014-15 school year, she realized they might fail and not receive math credit. 

That struggle highlights what some education experts, such as Tom Loveless, believe is one troubling aspect of detracking: The approach lacks flexibility for when some students genuinely need more support. 

Loveless, an education researcher and former senior fellow at the Brookings Institution, has been studying detracking for three decades. He cited San Francisco as an example where detracking hasn’t helped. When the school district eliminated tracks in middle and high schools starting in 2014, middle school students could no longer take Algebra 1. Instead, all students would take the course in ninth grade.

But Loveless said his analysis of assessment data indicates gaps between Black and Latino students and their white peers in San Francisco have only widened since the district detracked math.

“If you have kids who are really struggling at mathematics, they really need to be identified and probably treated differently in terms of curriculum and instruction than kids who are just sailing through math courses,” Loveless said. 

At Blythewood, Reed decided to act after realizing several students were falling further behind.

She and the nine other teachers leading the detracked classes identified four students from each class who needed the most support. Those 40 students were then dropped down to a remedial math class starting in January 2015 for the rest of the school year.  

Related: Teachers conquering their math anxiety

Despite having to group some students into a lower-track class, Reed, who now works with just freshmen at Blythewood, said she still believes in the promise of detracking. She highlights the school’s 90-percent passing rate on the Algebra 1 exam in 2014-15 as proof. And while 40 students had to drop down to a lower-level class, she emphasizes that they were still a fraction of the nearly 400 students who had been in the detracked Algebra 1 classes. 

More detailed end-of-course data also showed more signs of progress. While the percentage of Blythewood’s Black students who scored within the “A” range on Algebra 1 stayed the same as the year prior, the percentage of students who scored in the “B” range increased from 14 percent in 2013-14 to 25 percent in 2014-15. 

But after that first year of Algebra 1 detracking, Blythewood approached the set-up differently. Rather than dropping struggling students down to a lower-level math class midyear, teachers started the school year with two lower-level math classes, each with 20 students. 

In 2015-16, Blythewood’s passing rate on the Algebra 1 end-of-course exam dropped back to 87 percent. 

Still, with teachers concerned about struggling students falling through the cracks, the school stuck with offering some lower-level math classes, and continues to do so, Reed said. 

The school’s end-of-course passing rate has never been as high as it was in 2014-15, when for at least half a year the school had completely detracked Algebra 1. Reed believes that all students being exposed to the regular Algebra 1 curriculum, even for just half a year, made a difference. 

The last remnant of her program, the math seminar, ended with the 2022-23 school year. Due to a scheduling change with class length, the school no longer offers the seminar to be taken concurrently with Algebra 1.

Reed isn’t critical of the school’s changes. Students’ scores still might improve this year, she said. But she’s keen on seeing this year’s end-of-course data. Then maybe she and school leaders could have a conversation about detracking and the seminar again.

At the core of Reed’s efforts is creating equity for all students. 

“They just need to know they matter,” she said.

This story about detracking was produced by The Post and Courier as part of The Math Problem, an ongoing series about math instruction. The series is a collaboration with the Education Reporting Collaborative, a coalition of eight newsrooms that includes AL.com, The Associated Press, The Christian Science Monitor, The Dallas Morning News, The Hechinger Report, Idaho Education News, The Post and Courier in South Carolina, and The Seattle Times. Sign up for the Hechinger newsletter.

The post Racial gaps in math have grown. Could detracking help? appeared first on The Hechinger Report.

Laura Jackson became seriously concerned about her daughter and math when the girl was in third grade. While many of her classmates flew through multiplication tests, Jackson’s daughter struggled to complete her 1 times table. She relied on her fingers to count, had difficulty reading clocks and frequently burst into tears when asked at home to practice math flashcards. At school, the 9-year-old had been receiving help from a math specialist for two years, with little improvement. “We hit a point where she was asking me, ‘Mom, am I stupid?’” Jackson recalled. 

Then, when Jackson was having lunch with a friend one day, she heard for the first time about a disorder known as dyscalculia. After lunch, she went to her computer, looked up the term, and quickly came across a description of the learning disability, which impacts a child’s ability to process numbers, retain math knowledge and complete math problems. “I was like, ‘Oh my gosh, this is my kid,’” Jackson said.

Nationwide, hundreds of thousands of students face challenges learning math due to math disabilities like dyscalculia, a neurodevelopmental learning disorder caused by differences in the parts of the brain that are involved with numbers and calculations. There are often obstacles to getting help.

America’s schools have long struggled to identify and support students with learning disabilities of all kinds: Kids often languish while waiting to receive a diagnosis; families frequently have to turn to private, often pricey, providers to get one; and even with a diagnosis, some children still don’t get the supports they need because their schools are unable to provide them.

That’s slowly changing — for some disabilities. A majority of states have passed laws that mandate screening early elementary students for the most common reading disability, dyslexia, and countless districts train teachers how to recognize and teach struggling readers. Meanwhile, parents and experts say school districts continue to neglect students with math disabilities like dyscalculia, which affects up to 7 percent of the population and often coexists with dyslexia.

“Nobody uses the proper term for it, it’s not diagnosed frequently,” said Sandra Elliott, a former special education teacher and current chief academic officer at TouchMath, a multisensory math program. “We’re all focused on literacy.”

Nationwide, teachers report that up to 40 percent of their students perform below grade level in math. And while students with math disabilities may be especially far behind, math scores for all students have remained dismal for years, showing that more attention needs to be paid to math instruction. Experts say learning the most effective methods for teaching students with math disabilities could significantly strengthen math instruction for all students. “You’ve got a huge number of students that are in the middle ground,” when it comes to math achievement but may not have a disability, Elliott added. Those students could also be helped by having explicit, multisensory instruction in math. “If it works for the students with the most severe disconnections and slower processing speeds, it’s still going to work for the kids that are in the ‘middle’ with math difficulties.”

“It’s not the fault of schools. I think it has to do with the amount of resources schools have to provide intervention to children, and reading takes priority over math.”

Lynn Fuchs, research professor at Vanderbilt University

Covid exacerbated the nation’s problem with math achievement. The number of children who are several years behind in math has increased over the past few years and achievement gaps have widened. For some students, learning struggles may be due to an underlying disability like dyscalculia or other math learning disabilities that affect math calculation or problem solving skills. Yet only 15 percent of teachers report that their students have been screened for dyscalculia.

“There’s not as much research on math disorders or dyscalculia,” as there is on reading disabilities, said Karen Wilson, a clinical neuropsychologist who works with the organization Understood.org and specializes in the assessment of children with learning differences. “That also trickles down into schools.”

Related: Why it matters that Americans are comparatively bad at math

There are a host of reasons why math disabilities receive less attention than reading disabilities. Elementary teachers report more anxiety when it comes to teaching math, which can make it harder to teach struggling learners. Advocacy focused on math disabilities has been less widespread than that for reading disabilities. There is also a deep-seated societal belief that some people have a natural aptitude for math. “A lot of times, [parents] let it go for a long time because it’s culturally acceptable to be bad at math,” said Heather Brand, a math specialist and operations manager for the tutoring organization Made for Math.  

Some signs of dyscalculia are obvious at an early age, if parents and educators know what to look for. In the earliest years, a child might have difficulty recognizing numbers or patterns. Children may also struggle to connect a number’s symbol with what it represents, like knowing the number 3 corresponds to three blocks, for example. In elementary school, students may have trouble with math functions like addition and subtraction, word problems, counting money, or remembering directions.

Still, schools may be resistant to assessing math disabilities, or unaware of their prevalence. Even after Jackson learned about dyscalculia on her own, her daughter’s Seattle-area public school was doubtful that the third grader had a learning disability because she was performing so well in all other areas. Teachers suggested Jackson spend extra time on math at home. “For so many parents, they assume the school would let them know there’s an issue, but that’s just not how it works,” said Jackson. (She ultimately wrote a book, “Discovering Dyscalculia” about her family’s journey, and now runs workshops for parents of children with dyscalculia.)

Experts say universal screening, like those provided in many states for dyslexia, should be in place for math disabilities. Early diagnosis is crucial to provide children a stronger foundation in the early concepts that all math builds on. “Many times, if a student is caught early with the interventions that we all know work … these children can perform math, if not equal to their typically developing peers, they can get very, very close,” said Elliott from TouchMath.

As with other learning disabilities, a diagnosis is only the first step to getting children the help they need in school. In particular, students with dyscalculia often need a more structured approach to learning math that, like reading, involves “systematic and explicit” instruction and provides ample time to practice counting and recognizing numbers, said Lynn Fuchs, a research professor in special education and human development at Vanderbilt University. These students also may need strategies to help them commit math facts to memory, she added. To do this well, they often need small-group or one-on-one teaching, which is non-existent in many schools’ math instruction. “It’s not the fault of schools. I think it has to do with the amount of resources schools have to provide intervention to children, and reading takes priority over math,” said Fuchs.

Part of the problem is that teachers don’t receive the training needed to work with children with math disabilities. Teacher training programs offer little instruction on disabilities of any kind, and even less on math. In a 2023 survey by Education Week, nearly 75 percent of teachers reported that they had received little to no preservice or in-service training on supporting students with math disabilities. At least one state, Virginia, requires dyslexia awareness training for teacher licensure renewal, but has no similar requirement for math disability training. “It’s pretty rare for undergraduate degrees or even master’s degrees to focus on math learning disabilities with any level of breadth, depth, quality or rigor,” said Amelia Malone, director of research and innovation at the National Center for Learning Disabilities.

Nearly 75 percent of teachers reported in a 2023 Education Week survey that they had received little to no preservice or in-service training on supporting students with math disabilities..

Without more widespread knowledge of and support for dyscalculia, many parents have had to look for specialists and tutors on their own, which they say can be particularly challenging for math, and costly. Even after her daughter received a diagnosis, Jackson felt the girl’s school wasn’t supporting her enough. At school, her daughter’s math teacher demanded “tidy” math notebooks and discouraged drawing or doodling, activities that often helped the girl work through problems. In 2019, Jackson started pulling her daughter out of school for part of each day to teach her math at home. “I am not a math teacher, but I was so desperate,” Jackson said. “There’s no one who knows anything and we have to figure this out.”

Jackson pored over materials online and reached out to math disability experts in America and abroad for help. She started infusing her daughter’s math lessons with games and brought out physical objects, like small wooden rods, to help her practice counting. She worked with her daughter on the core foundations of math, including number sense and basic operations, to help establish the solid grounding that the girl was missing.

Experts say it’s possible to improve math outcomes for those who struggle, if more attention and resources are poured into math in the early years to ensure children do not reach third grade — or beyond — without the support they need.

Yet early childhood teachers are often the least equipped to teach math, especially for children with dyscalculia, said Marilyn Zecher, a dyslexia specialist who created a multisensory approach to math based on the popular Orton-Gillingham approach in reading. Zecher offers training on dyscalculia-related teaching strategies for teachers of all grade levels. Many of her strategies for early educators emphasize that math instruction starts through language. Children learn the basics of mathematics when teachers give them opportunities to verbally compare similarities and differences between objects, and describe how items or activities occur in relation to each other, such as “before” or “after.”

“The early ed teachers are the giants upon whose shoulders everybody else stands,” Zecher said. Early educators, like preschool teachers, not only teach foundational skills, they are also “so critical to identifying children who are having difficulties.”

Related: For teachers who fear math, banishing bad memories can help

At Brand’s organization, Made for Math, intensive tutoring based on Zecher’s approach often stands in for a lack of school-based support. Teachers create individualized lesson plans for students during each tutoring session, employing a variety of items to help students better understand math concepts. Students might use craft sticks bundled together to learn place value, cubes to learn subtraction or addition, and items that can be physically cut apart, like foam stickers, to learn fractions. Math specialists at the organization have found that children with dyscalculia need repetition, especially to understand math facts. Some students attend tutoring up to four days a week, at a cost of up to $1,000 a month. “It’s hard because it’s not something schools are offering, and kids deserve it,” said Brand.

In recent years, a handful of states, including Alabama, West Virginia and Florida, have introduced legislation that would require schools to identify and support younger students who struggle with math. Elliott’s company, TouchMath, introduced a screener earlier this year that can identify signs of math disabilities, like dyscalculia, in children as young as age 3.

“Many times, if a student is caught early with the interventions that we all know work…these children can perform math if not equal to their typically developing peers,”

Sandra Elliott, a former special education teacher and current chief academic officer at TouchMath

Malone, from the National Center for Learning Disabilities, said, there are pockets of progress around the country in screening more children for math disabilities, but movement at the federal level — and in most states — is “nonexistent.”

New York City is one district that has prioritized math disability screening and math instruction in the early years. In 2015 and 2016, the city spent $6 million to roll out a new math curriculum featuring games, building blocks, art projects and songs. The district has also introduced universal math and reading screeners to try to identify students who may be behind.

Experts say that there are ways that all schools can make math instruction more accessible. In elementary schools, activities that involve more senses should be used more widely, including whole-body motions and songs for teaching numbers and hands-on materials for math operations. All students, and not only those with dyscalculia, could benefit from using manipulatives to help visualize problems and graph paper to assist in lining up numbers.  

As with dyslexia, figuring out better ways to teach kids with math disabilities will shore up math instruction across the board – and better meet students where they are. “Some kids won’t use [the strategies],” said Wilson, the neuropsychologist. “It’s really about having the option, so the student who’s struggling will be able to find a method that works for them.”

Jackson said her daughter could have benefited from a wider variety of methods at school. After several years of learning math at home, she was ready to try to re-join grade-level math classes. When the teen returned to school-based math classes in high school, she achieved an A in Algebra. “When you really understand what it is to be dyscalculic, then you can look around and decide what this person needs to succeed,” Jackson said. “It’s not just that you’re ‘bad at math’ and need to buckle down and try harder.”

This story about dyscalculia was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education, as part of The Math Problem, an ongoing series about math instruction. The series is a collaboration with the Education Reporting Collaborative, a coalition of eight newsrooms that includes AL.com, The Associated Press, The Christian Science Monitor, The Dallas Morning News, The Hechinger Report, Idaho Education News, The Post and Courier in South Carolina, and The Seattle Times. Sign up for the Hechinger newsletter.

The post Disabilities in math affect many students — but get little attention appeared first on The Hechinger Report.

When Tha Cung looked over his sixth-grade class schedule, he took notice of the math block. He had been placed in an advanced class. 

“I didn’t know ‘honors’ even existed,” he said.

Tha was little when his family immigrated from Myanmar, and, for much of his time in Dallas schools, he took courses designed for children who are learning English. In fifth grade, his standardized test scores showed he was a strong math student – someone who should be challenged with honors classes in middle school.

Under Dallas Independent School District policy, Tha’s parents didn’t need to sign him up for advanced math. A teacher or counselor didn’t have to recommend him, either. In many schools, those are the hoops a student must get through to join honors classes. But Tha was automatically placed in the advanced course because of his scores on Texas’ STAAR test.

A version of this approach will soon be replicated statewide as part of an effort to remove systemic barriers that can stand between bright students and rigorous courses. It sounds simple: Instead of having families opt-in to advanced math, they are instead given the choice to opt-out. 

During its regular session, the Legislature passed a bipartisan bill mandating every student who performed in the top 40 percent on a fifth-grade math assessment automatically be enrolled in advanced math for sixth grade. 

“We’re setting up a structure that uses an objective measure to ensure that students who are already showing that they are capable are being put on that advanced math pathway,” said Jennifer Saenz, a policy director with the E3 Alliance, an education collaborative based in Austin, which advocated for the new Texas law. 

How the approach rolls out in Texas could provide lessons for other states. 

Leaders across the country are confronting the need to prepare a new, diverse generation of STEM workers. And after COVID-19, it’s been particularly challenging for students to bounce back from widespread learning loss in math. Eighth graders in Texas scored roughly in line with the national average on the test referred to as the Nation’s Report Card in 2022, seeing a similar dip since 2019.

Related: Inside the new middle school math crisis

Before the pandemic, E3 Alliance’s research found that Black and Hispanic students in Texas were routinely left out of advanced classes – even if they earned high test scores. The group hopes the new state law will build pathways for students who have been historically excluded.

Enrolling in advanced math in sixth grade clears the way for a student to take Algebra I in eighth grade. That opens up the possibility of courses such as calculus or statistics during high school. And that can then set a stronger foundation for a STEM major in college and a high-paying career after graduation. 

Advocates for the opt-out policy say it’s a workforce issue in addition to an equity issue.

“Especially in today’s rapidly changing and technology-driven economy, math matters more than ever – for individual students and for the larger Texas workforce to remain competitive,” said Jonathan Feinstein, a state director at The Education Trust, a national nonprofit promoting equity.

On a recent morning at Vickery Meadow’s Sam Tasby Middle School, Principal Nesha Maston observed dozens of students in Room 304 calculating the area of parallelograms and trapezoids. 

In that class was Alexis Grant, an 11-year-old who thinks her year in sixth-grade honors math will pave the way for achieving one of her goals: Studying at Harvard. 

“I knew it would be challenging,” Alexis said of her math class.“We push each other to get the work done.”

Many of her Tasby classmates – including Tha – are immigrants. Families who send their children to the school collectively speak more than a dozen languages, and the vast majority are low-income. 

When Maston looks in on those honors classes, she sees the population of her school is reflected.  

Related: How can schools dig out from a generation’s worth of lost math progress?

Maston’s observations are backed up by Dallas ISD data. 

Not only are far more DISD students enrolling in advanced math, but those classrooms are more diverse.

In 2018, prior to the opt-out policy, roughly 3,500 sixth graders enrolled in honors math classes. About 17 percent of Black students in that grade and one-third of Hispanic students were in those classes, compared to half of white students. 

“My mom told me that I could be anything. So I chose engineer.”

Tha Cung, student, Dallas Independent School District

Last year, more than 5,100 sixth graders took honors math. And now, 43 percent of Black students are in honors math when they enter middle school and nearly six in 10 Hispanic students are. The percentage of white sixth graders in honors math has also gone up, to roughly 82 percent. 

Meanwhile, the number of Dallas ISD eighth-grade students enrolled in Algebra I nearly doubled between 2018 and last year. 

Texas is home to more than 1,000 school districts, which means vastly different ways students could end up in advanced courses. The decisions were often subjective.

Related: Teachers conquering their math anxiety

Teacher recommendations are a big factor in some districts. But those decisions can be swayed by implicit biases around what an “honors students” looks or acts like, education advocates say. 

In other places, parents must request advanced classes for their children – but that can leave out students whose parents may not be aware of the option. Students themselves also may not want to opt-in because they don’t see themselves as good at math or don’t want the extra workload. 

The number of Dallas ISD eighth-grade students enrolled in Algebra I nearly doubled between 2018 and last year. 

Some Central Texas districts also already have an opt-out policy, with the help of the E3 Alliance. Those schools have seen far more Black and Hispanic students complete Algebra I in eighth grade, as well as a huge jump among children who are learning English.

In Hays ISD, curriculum officer Derek McDaniel watched as the number of students in advanced math ballooned over the past three years since implementing the new policy. 

As more districts move in this direction under the new law, McDaniel urges school administrators to prioritize parent communication. Explaining to families why their child is placed into honors math is critical, he said, adding that parents should know the benefit of this more challenging course load.

Communication with teachers is also key, McDaniel said. Some honors-level teachers are accustomed to a certain student profile. They expect limited behavior problems and for students to always complete homework assignments on time. 

With an opt-out policy, he said, some students will be new to the advanced track and not have developed uniform study skills in the lower grades. 

“The easy solution is to give up,” McDaniel said. “We’re gonna stick with the kid.” 

Related: Is it time to stop segregating kids by ability in middle school math?

A handful of other states have embraced opt-out or automatic enrollment policies.

In North Carolina, for example, a 2017 News & Observer/Charlotte Observer investigation found students from low-income families were placed in advanced coursework at lower rates than their affluent peers who demonstrated the same levels of achievement.

Lawmakers later passed an “automatic enrollment” law. According to a 2022 state report, 92 percent of North Carolina middle and high school students who scored at the highest level on their end-of-grade math test were placed in an advanced math course.

Texas’ strategy is unique in its focus on sixth-grade math as a gateway for more advanced courses.

Now, 43 percent of Black students are in honors math when they enter middle school and nearly six in 10 Hispanic students are. The percentage of white sixth graders in honors math has also gone up, to roughly 82 percent. 

Recognizing the change could be a heavy lift, the Texas Education Agency has given administrators until the 2024 school year to comply with the law. 

Among the potential challenges: schools may need to strengthen their pipeline of advanced math teachers. Administrators may also have to build out more time for tutoring or host summer camps to bring more students up to speed on key math skills.

Dallas ISD chief academic officer Shannon Trejo said some students might begin middle school fuzzy on various math ideas. Or, because of the COVID disruption, they may have some gaps in their understanding of foundational concepts. 

“We need to be ready to build those little gaps and not make that be the cause for students to say, ‘I don’t think I want to do this anymore,’” she said.

The payoff may be years away, when current Dallas students begin earning high-paying jobs in science, technology, engineering or math fields.

Tha Cung was placed in that sixth-grade honors math class two years ago. Now he’s an eighth grader enrolled in Algebra I. He thinks that will give him a leg up in the future.

“My mom told me that I could be anything,” Tha, 13, said. “So I chose engineer.”

This story is part of The Math Problem, a series by The Education Reporting Collaborative, a coalition of eight newsrooms that is documenting the math crisis facing schools and highlighting progress. Members of the collaborative are AL.com, The Associated Press, The Christian Science Monitor, The Dallas Morning News, The Hechinger Report, Idaho Education News, The Post and Courier in South Carolina, and The Seattle Times.

The DMN Education Lab deepens the coverage and conversation about urgent education issues critical to the future of North Texas. The Lab is a community-funded journalism initiative, with support from Bobby and Lottye Lyle, Communities Foundation of Texas, The Dallas Foundation, Dallas Regional Chamber, Deedie Rose, Garrett and Cecilia Boone, The Meadows Foundation, The Murrell Foundation, Solutions Journalism Network, Southern Methodist University, Sydney Smith Hicks and the University of Texas at Dallas. The Dallas Morning News retains full editorial control of the Education Lab’s journalism.

The post How Texas plans to make access to advanced math more equitable  appeared first on The Hechinger Report.

This story about math anxiety was produced by The Hechinger Report, a nonprofit, independent news organization focused on inequality and innovation in education. Sign up for our early childhood newsletter.

Elementary school teachers often face a significant challenge when it comes to teaching math: their own discomfort with numbers. 

The Hechinger Report recently hosted a live event for people to learn more about efforts to solve this problem. The conversation included commentary from Lisa Ginet, director of program design and operations at the Erikson Institute; Heather Peske, president of the National Council on Teacher Quality; and Ivory McCormick, a first grade teacher at The Galloway School in Atlanta.

As our early childhood reporter Ariel Gilreath recently reported, elementary school teachers often struggle with teaching this subject. In her story, Gilreath writes: “Decades of research shows that math anxiety is a common problem for adults, and surveys show it particularly affects women, who make up nearly 90 percent of elementary teachers in the United States. Put simply, a lot of elementary school educators hate the prospect of teaching math, even when the math concepts are beginner level.”

The story about math anxiety is part of The Math Problem, an ongoing series about math instruction. The series is a collaboration with the Education Reporting Collaborative, a coalition of eight newsrooms that includes AL.com, The Associated Press, The Christian Science Monitor, The Dallas Morning News, The Hechinger Report, Idaho Education News, The Post and Courier in South Carolina, and The Seattle Times.

The post Experts share the latest research on how teachers can overcome math anxiety   appeared first on The Hechinger Report.