By Thomas Armstrong
(Originally published in Educational
Leadership, Vol. 59, No. 3, November 2001, pp. 38-41).
Imagine living a world
where everyone was a flower instead of a human being. In such a floral society,
it's likely that the psychiatrists would be roses. Now, imagine that the
psychiatrist calls in his first patient: a lily. "Hmm," says Rose.
"I can see that we might have a problem here!" He looks Lily over
carefully and then gives his diagnosis: "I'm sorry to inform you that you
have PDD, otherwise known as Petal Deficit Disorder." Lily leaves,
saddened and anxious, and the next patient, a bluet, comes through the door. Rose
gets out his magnifying glass, examines Bluet minutely, and then declares:
"I believe that you have GD, or Growing Disability. You really are much
too small!" Bluet exits, feeling punched down a few sizes. Finally, a
giant sunflower comes through the door, and the psychiatrist doesn't even have
to conduct an examination: "This flower clearly has Hugeism! Unfortunately,
it's genetic, and there's not much we can do about it."
This story may seem
silly, but it serves as a scary metaphor for how we are treating students these
days. Instead of celebrating the natural diversity of all our students, we
package many of their natural differences into neat little pathological
categories. We strip away their humanity by using lifeless words and phrases to
talk about them: "Judy has learning disabilities"; "Roy has
ADHD" (Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder); "Brian was just
diagnosed with autism"; "Billy has PDD" (pervasive Developmental
Disorder); "Ed's got Asperger's syndrome." By adopting these labels
as the dominant descriptors of a student's learning potential, we block
ourselves off from understanding who these children really are. In 1949, George
Orwell's bleak futurist novel, 1984, showed how words can manipulate,
dominate, and repress authenticity. Unfortunately, in education, we have not
been vigilant enough to see that we have been similarly negating the worlds of
students through these sterile phrases.
Let's look at some examples of children.
Twelve-year-old Billy created Rube Goldberg machines and described the way he
thought as "a cross between music and architecture" (Houston, 1982,
p. 137). Nadia, 5, drew pictures that were on a par with paintings by a mature
adult artist (Self, 1977). Peter, 6, did arithmetic problems by counting the
dots on the ceiling tiles in his classroom. Ray, 12, played a leading role in
organizing a teacher's recycling center. High school student Chelsea
choreographed a dance to remember the elements of the periodic table. Stevie,
9, could find anything that anyone had lost in the classroom or on the school
grounds. Brian won the national swim title for his age group in the breast
stroke.
These students
are just a small cross section of the many students whom I have worked with,
read about, or heard about from other educators. All of them are IKSWAL
(Interesting Kids Saddled with Alienating Labels). Unfortunately, in any
serious school discussion about these students among teachers, administrators,
and support staff, what predominates is a discussion of Billy's learning
disability, Nadia's autism, Ray's emotional disturbance, Chelsea's ADHD, or
Brian's dyslexia. In catching hold of the diagnostic label, educators have lost
sight of what makes each student a fascinating person.
What Brain Scans Reveal
Some may argue,
"But these students really have these disorders! These disorders have a
neurological basis. This is the brain we're talking about!" Yes, of
course, each of these students has a brain -the most complex, mysterious, and
multifaceted organ in the universe. That fact in itself should be an argument
in favor of seeing students not in terms of a mere label but rather in far more
complex and rich terms. Out of trillions of brain connections, how many in each
student's brain are actually deficient? And who is to judge the
deficiency? Psychiatrist Rose? Brain
researcher Orchid?
Several brain scan
studies have come out recently indicating what is considered a clear
neurological basis for the existence of ADHD (Fine, 2001). These studies-many
of them based on findings of abnormal frontal lobe functioning-have convinced
most people in education that ADHD is a biological disorder. Troubling issues, however, remain. Eenough to suggest that giving a scientific
stamp of authority to the labels that we use in our schools may be premature
and even ill-founded.
First, a recent
review of brain-imaging studies indicated problems with many of them,
including relatively small and often heterogeneous samples and difficulties in
establishing accurate and appropriate diagnoses (Hendren, DeBacker, &
Pandina, 2000).
Second, the causes
of abnormalities in the brain scans of children labeled with ADHD may be
environmental rather than inborn. Brain scan images change as a result of
specific therapeutic interventions (Schwartz, Stoessel, Baxter, Martin, &
Phelps, 1996). Moreover, such environmental conditions as stress and trauma
may negatively affect neurological patterns, including prefrontal cortical
function in children (perry & Pollard, 1998). One plausible hypothesis is
that some children diagnosed with ADHD have abnormal prefrontal lobe patterns
because of environmental trauma (Amsten, 1999).
Third, and
most important, many of the so-called abnormalities seen in brain scans may
actually point more toward differences than abnormalities. In one brain scan
study (Schweitzer et al., 2000), individuals labeled as having ADHD showed more
activity in the region of the brain linked with visual spatial processing than
did so-called normal individuals, who
showed more anterior or frontal lobe
activity. The ADHD-identified subjects reported that while they were doing the
required task during the brain scanning procedure, they pictured images in
their heads. In other words, these scans may not be diagnosing ADHD as much as
they are identifying individuals who process information through pictures and
images more than through sounds and words - individuals who might be expected
to have more difficulty in classroom environments where sounds and words,
rather than visualizations, predominate as teaching techniques.
Many students
labeled with learning, attention, and behavioral disorders may have brains
that are not necessarily abnormal but,
rather, different. When we value
only restricted ways of learning, behaving, and attending - especially
high-stakes-tests learning, sit-down-in-your-seat-and-look-at-the-blackboard
behaving, and focus-on-the-vocabulary-word attending, then we ignore, stifle,
or repress the other marvelous things that a student's brain might be capable
of doing. Worksheets, lectures, tests, and labels are bulldozers that are
mowing down our students' rich and diverse "brain forests," and we
should be concerned. Unfortunately, calling these kids learning different is
not going to help, for the term has become a euphemism for learning disabled
and many other negative labels that we are using in our schools today.
What We Can Do
We must be radical and creative in how we think
about and describe the learning potentials of students. We can begin by
discarding the medical and scientific terminology that we have used to label
students; it is too sterile to describe
the richness of a student's world as a learner.
Let us bring humanism back into education by employing the wisdom and vocabulary of literature. For example, the wide range of characters from Shakespeare can serve as a template of human variation for describing learning differences in students. We might say for one student, "She is a bit like Puck!"; for another, "He broods like Hamlet"; while for still another, "He's got the spirit of Hotspur!" This approach would require educators, of course, to steep themselves in the great literary tradition of Shakespeare, which some might view as highly impractical. After all, there's a huge epidemic of SADD, or Shakespeare Attention Deficit Disorder, a crippling cultural disability sweeping across the land.
The biographies of great individuals could
also serve as an organizing framework for understanding students' special
gifts. In speaking of a student labeled with a behavior disorder, we might say,
"He's a regular Churchill, that kid!"; for a student diagnosed as
dyslexic, "He's got that Hans Christian Andersen storytelling quality in
him"; or for a student who writes with semantic force but is identified
with dysorthographia (the inability to spell correctly), "There's
an Agatha Christie in her bursting to get out!" Several disability
organizations have a disconcerting tendency to use such wellknown figures as
examples of "famous people with disabilities." Rather than dragging
these great individuals down to the level of these sterile disability
categories, we should lift up the students weighed down by these labels to
something more resembling the rich complexity of human greatness.
Finally, we should discard the scientific
tools of standardized test measures that have been used for making labels and
instead explore other assessment tools borrowed from phenomenology,
hermeneutics, anthropology, and other qualitative methodologies (Armstrong,
1988; Carini, 1982; Henry, 1963; Nylund, 2000; Sacks, 1996). The test-and-Iabel
approach that dominates the special education landscape today serves only to
lure educators away from the depths and complexities of real students' lives.
Let us nurture all varieties of students' ways of learning - not just as an
expression of hope, but as a matter of daily commitment and practice.
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T. (1999). Development of the cerebral cortex: XIV. Stress impairs prefrontal
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Psychiatry, 38(2),220-222.
Carini, P. (1982). The school lives of seven children. Grand Forks: Center for Teaching and Learning,
University of North Dakota.
Fine, L.
(2001, May 9). Paying attention: Scientists scrutinize the brain for biological
clues to the mysteries of ADHD. Education Week, 20(34), 26-29.
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(1996, February). Systematic changes in cerebral glucose metabolic rate after
successful behavior modification treatment of obsessive-compulsive disorder. Archives
of General Psychiatry, 53, 109-113.
Schweitzer, J.
B., Faber, T. L., Grafton, S. T., Tune,
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Self, L. (1977).
Nadia: A case of extraordinary drawing ability in an autistic child. New
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Thomas
Armstrong, Ph.D. is a psychologist and educator, and the author of 12 books,
including In Their Own Way, 7 Kinds of Smart, and Multiple Intelligences in the
Classroom. For more about his work, go
to www.thomasarmstrong.com.