Inclusion on Repeat: Time for a New Lens on SEND?
A small selection of my ‘inclusive education’ library! Note…an eclectic collection of new and old (some of these texts were published in the 1990s…same issues same questions being asked!)
I’ve been quietly stirring since the recent publication of the House of Commons Education Committee’s report Solving the SEND Crisis (200+ pages if you’re brave enough, or a neat summary from ASCL).
Part of me wants to jump for joy. Finally, something on the table that amplifies the voices of students, families and educators who live and work in a system that is, frankly, broken.
Yet, the joy is complicated. For families of children with Education Health and Care Plans (EHCPs), the review has caused deep distress. When the Education Minister talks about the “unsustainability of EHCP funding,” how can families not fear that the rug might be pulled from under them?
And I can’t help but feel déjà vu. Two years ago, the previous government engaged a consultancy firm — to the outrage of taxpayers — to audit SEND provision in the SEND & Alternative Provision Improvement Plan (2023) . Now we’re here again, circling the same issues, hearing the same reassurances.
We’ve been here before.
In fact, we’ve been here for 30 years. The Salamanca Statement (1994) set the vision for inclusion. Since then, inclusion has been debated, redefined, reframed. And yet — here we are, still asking the same questions.
One of the most shocking findings in the current report (though not surprising, is it?) is that the Department for Education still has not published an official definition of “inclusive mainstream education.”
Is that the real issue? Is it even solvable?
Because globally, organisations like UNESCO are crystal clear:
““Every learner matters equally.”
“Inclusive education works to identify all barriers to education and remove them.” “An inclusive approach means each individual’s needs are taken into account and that all learners participate and achieve together… Special focus is placed on learners who may be at risk of marginalization, exclusion or underachievement.””
This isn’t a uniquely UK problem. Chandrika Devarakonda shows that even at the early childhood level, inclusion is defined differently in China, Germany, and the UK. This inconsistency underscores the systemic challenge: without a shared definition, policies and practice remain fragmented, and outcomes vary widely.
What if inclusion isn’t a definition but a practice?
Maybe it’s time to look through a different lens: a relational, human-centred, neurobiological perspective.
Inclusion isn’t about labels or compliance. It’s about connection. About belonging. About understanding how children learn and engage in real classrooms.
In my work across very different school contexts, I see inclusion lived out in diverse ways:
Rural Somerset primary: mixed-age grouping, scaffolding students from Year 4 into Year 5/6 maths and English, creating space for engagement and growth — a clear example of ‘rising tide lifts all ships’ , identifying barriers, increasing participation and adapting pedagogy.
London Inner-city school: 44% of children and young people have English as an Additional Language, where multilingual parent partnerships and community support ensure all learners participate and achieve together.
Local PRU: relationships and trust come before everything else, creating a sense of belonging that students often don’t feel in mainstream schools.
Each context looks different. Each feels inclusive.
So what if…
We stopped asking “what’s the definition?” and started asking “what does belonging look like here, in this context?”
We measured not just attainment, but competence, mastery, agency, and engagement — markers that show children feel connected and capable, aligning with a human-centred approach.
We invested in communities, relationships, compassion, and understanding — not just systems and paperwork.
Chandrika Devarakonda’s work reminds me that inclusion goes far beyond policies or checklists. It’s about actively noticing and valuing differences, listening to those directly affected, and shaping systems so that everyone can take part. The same ideas that make a classroom genuinely inclusive can guide how we design experiences and opportunities that leave no one behind.
The SEND crisis is complex because human experience is complex. Perhaps it’s time to approach it with systems thinking, recognising that inclusive classrooms and schools will look different depending on their culture, size, and community and the ecosystems to which their students and families belong.
If we truly understood human diversity, the neurobiology of belonging, and the power of connection, our approach to inclusion could look very different. Don’t get me wrong — any attention we can bring to Solving the SEND Crisis is worth its weight in gold. But what if we looked at inclusion through a different lens? What if we embraced a new paradigm that focuses on relationships, connection, and lived experience? That’s how we might finally edge forward in this long-standing debate.
For educators in Bangkok, I’d love for you to join me at Shrewsbury International School, Bangkok on the 1st November, where we’ll dive deep into all things inclusion, share ideas, and explore solutions together. If you’re committed to tackling SEND challenges in the UK, start small but start somewhere: reach out to your local MP, attend roundtables, or get involved in community initiatives. I started these conversations in June, and by November a roundtable is being organised — proof that little steps can build big momentum.
Let’s move beyond discussion and take action — together.
