Beyond the Checklist: The Truth About Category H and Inclusive Education in B.C.

 

At first glance, British Columbia’s inclusive education framework appears to be rooted in equity. There are checklists, codes, funding categories, and policies designed—at least on paper—to ensure all students can access meaningful education. But in practice, we often forget that we’re working with real human beings. This factory model of efficiency simply does not work when applied to children. When access to funding (and often the supports tied to it) is conditional on meeting rigid criteria, we create enormous pressure that prevents many students from receiving the help they need.

This system isn’t designed to support children proactively. It’s built to wait for them to fail, and then to fail again. Their struggles must be observed, documented, and pathologized before any support is offered. Even then, the response is delayed, conditional, and often punitive.

While students wait for help, the only category many may eventually qualify for is Category H—students with intense behaviours or serious mental illness. These students are among the most vulnerable in our schools. They are also the most likely to be suspended, sent home, or placed on shortened school days. And let’s not overlook that they are disproportionately represented by Indigenous students and children in care. That fact alone should prompt serious reflection about what we mean by “equity.”

Category H students typically require the highest levels of support, yet the funding attached to this designation is minimal. Meanwhile, schools often lead parents to believe that support is tied directly to the funding category. This is simply not true. Support does not depend on a designation. It is not optional. It is not conditional. If your child has a disability—or there is reason to believe they do—they have the right to accommodations and support. That right is protected by law and grounded in basic human rights. You do not need a specific category or even an IEP to access that right.

What’s currently happening is deeply troubling. Students enter the system with visible needs but no formal diagnosis. Their struggles are noted and tracked over time. Eventually, if the school has the capacity or the family pursues an external assessment, a referral is made. But assessments can take months or even years. In the meantime, students continue to fall behind. Teachers are left to manage increasingly complex classrooms with limited tools and little help. Burnout is rampant. And while all this unfolds, exclusion becomes the default: shortened days, suspensions, and soft exits disguised as alternate programs.

In a system where resources are scarce, access becomes more tightly controlled. The criteria become stricter. And somehow, this is framed as “efficiency.” But what we’re really doing is designing a system that pushes out those who don’t fit into it easily.

To make matters worse, some districts have started informing families that their child no longer meets the strict criteria for Category H, suggesting that support will be reduced or removed. This decision is often based on a decline in visible behaviours, as if the absence of a crisis means the absence of need. But in many cases, students show fewer behaviours precisely because they are receiving support. Removing that support risks a return to the very struggles that once qualified them for help. We must stop relying on documented behaviours as the primary measure of need. Behaviour should not be the gatekeeper for support, nor should students be forced to fail or act out to “earn” help. The current system of tracking and monitoring behaviours to justify services is reactive, harmful, and deeply flawed. I believe that every student who qualifies for Category H—diagnosed or not—likely has a disability. They need support, not punishment. Yet time and again, we offer them exclusion instead.

In theory, the inclusive education checklists and category designations were created to promote equity. But in practice, they reduce students to paperwork, highlight deficits, and uphold systems that prioritize conformity over diversity. We claim to value inclusion, but the reality is that we’re pushing students out—out of classrooms, out of school days, and sometimes out of the education system entirely.

Until our policies and funding structures reflect a real commitment to inclusion, not just in language, but in practice, we will continue to build systems that prize efficiency over humanity. And we will continue to lose students along the way.

If we are serious about inclusion, we need to remove the barriers that make accessing education so difficult in the first place. Long assessment wait times, rigid eligibility criteria, and overreliance on diagnoses delay support and cause harm. Students shouldn’t have to prove they deserve help, the system should be ready to respond to their needs.

To families: don’t be misled. If someone tells you your child will lose support without a category designation, ask questions. Push back. Know your rights. Your child’s access to education is not determined by a funding code.

It’s time to stop checking boxes and start changing the system.