The Unspoken Message: Assimilation by Graduation

There’s a belief that lingers in many schools. It is spoken in staff rooms and meetings, and echoed in policies and decisions: We’re preparing students for the real world. Too often, this belief is used to justify denying accommodations and help. The hidden message? That the world will not adapt, so neither should we.

Before students can even access accommodations, they are often forced to prove again and again that they are struggling. Their needs are questioned, their rights delayed, and their dignity undermined in endless cycles of assessments, documentation, and waiting. This constant burden places the onus on the child to demonstrate failure before being granted help.

And when help finally arrives, it is dressed up in language that softens the reality of disability. We call them “diverse abilities,” “learning styles,” or “universal supports,” as if avoiding the word “disability” makes the system more compassionate. In truth, this vocabulary is created by the dominant group to make itself feel better, while watering down the lived realities of disabled students.

The harm runs even deeper. Many students don’t want accommodations at all, fearing they will look “different” from their peers. But this reluctance is not natural. It is learned. It is the result of being shaped by a system that does not honour diversity and that provides accommodations so poorly, so visibly, and so conditionally that they come to feel like a spotlight of exclusion rather than a pathway to belonging. When schools frame difference as a defect, students internalize the belief that accepting help makes them “less.”

The roots of this problem run deep. The education system was built on the belief that children of the same age develop at the same pace, that they are more alike than different, and that disability is a defect to be corrected or hidden, something to make them appear more “normal.” That foundation still shapes today’s policies and practices.

Let’s be clear. School is the real world. It is where children live, learn, grow, and come to understand their identity and worth. Human rights do not begin after graduation. Disability doesn’t disappear at the school doors. It exists in every classroom. Accommodations aren’t acts of charity. They are legal and ethical obligations grounded in dignity and justice.

When we withhold help or provide it in ways that stigmatize, we send a dangerous message: that a student’s value is measured by how well they can adapt, mask their needs, and blend in. We don’t model equity. We reward assimilation.

And what’s rewarded in school becomes internalized. We risk raising children who believe that being accepted means being less of themselves. That success means silence. That belonging must be earned through struggle.

A human rights–based education would make accommodations foundational. We wouldn’t just “celebrate” differences. We would honour them, build support systems around them, and teach all students to understand and value them.

The real world is evolving. Workplaces are adopting inclusive practices. Laws are shifting. But education remains one of the last holdouts. It is rigid, compliance-driven, and slow to change. Instead of preparing students to navigate injustice, we condition them to endure it. That is not resilience. That is harm.

We must stop pretending that forcing children to struggle makes them stronger. Resilience grows in safe, supported environments, not in systems where disability is seen as a problem and accommodations are an afterthought.

We need to do more than name the harm. We need to transform the system that creates it.

Let’s build an education system where inclusion is not conditional. Where diversity is not a challenge to manage, but a truth to embrace. Where human rights are not optional, but foundational.

It’s time to stop measuring children by how well they fit the system and start building a system that fits them.

Because the next generation deserves more than survival. They deserve to thrive.

Let’s create that future. Today. In our classrooms. Let’s teach children that the real world accepts them, honours them, and removes the barriers. Not someday, but now.