A Terrifying Way to Discipline Children
Published: September 8, 2012 By BILL LICHTENSTEIN
It’s a dangerous development, as I know from my daughter’s experience. At
the age of 5, she was kept in a seclusion room for up to an hour at a time over
the course of three months, until we discovered what was happening. The trauma
was severe.
According to national Department of Education data, most of the nearly 40,000
students who were restrained or isolated in seclusion rooms during the 2009-10
school year had learning, behavioral, physical or developmental needs, even
though students with those issues represented just 12 percent of the student
population. African-American and Hispanic students were also disproportionately
isolated or restrained.
Joseph Ryan, an expert on the use of restraints who
teaches at Clemson University, told me that the practice of isolating and
restraining problematic children originated in schools for children with special
needs. It migrated to public schools in the 1970s as federal laws mainstreamed
special education students, but without the necessary oversight or staff
training. “It’s a quick way to respond but it’s not effective in changing
behaviors,” he said.
State laws on disciplining students vary widely, and
there are no federal laws restricting these practices, although earlier this
year Education Secretary Arne Duncan wrote, in a federal guide for schools, that
there was “no evidence that using restraint or seclusion is effective.” He
recommended evidence-based behavioral interventions and de-escalation techniques
instead.
The use of restraints and seclusion has become far
more routine than it should be. “They’re the last resort too often being used as
the first resort,” said Jessica Butler, a lawyer in Washington who has written
about seclusion in public schools.
Among the recent instances that have attracted
attention: Children in Middletown, Conn., told their parents that there was a
“scream room” in their school where they could hear other children who had been
locked away; last December, Sandra Baker of Harrodsburg, Ky., found her
fourth-grade son, Christopher, who had misbehaved, stuffed inside a duffel bag,
its drawstrings pulled tight, and left outside his classroom. He was “thrown in
the hall like trash,” she told me. And in April, Corey Foster, a 16-year-old with learning disabilities,
died on a school basketball court in Yonkers, N.Y., as four staff members
restrained him following a confrontation during a game. The medical examiner
ruled early last month that the death was from cardiac arrest resulting from the
student’s having an enlarged heart, and no charges were filed.
I saw firsthand the impact of these practices six
years ago when my daughter, Rose, started kindergarten in Lexington, Mass. Rose
had speech and language delays. Although she sometimes became overwhelmed more
quickly than other children, she was called “a model of age-appropriate
behavior” by her preschool. One evaluation said Rose was “happy, loves school,
is social.” She could, however, “get fidgety and restless when she is unsure as
to what is expected of her. When comfortable, Rose is a very participatory and
appropriate class member with a great deal to contribute to her world.”
Once in kindergarten, Rose began throwing violent
tantrums at home. She repeatedly watched a scene from the film “Finding Nemo” in
which a shark batters its way into a tiny room, attempting to eat the main
characters. The school provided no explanation or solution. Finally, on Jan. 6,
2006, a school aide called saying that Rose had taken off her clothes. We needed
to come get her.
At school, her mother and I found Rose standing alone
on the cement floor of a basement mop closet, illuminated by a single light
bulb. There was nothing in the closet for a child — no chair, no books, no
crayons, nothing but our daughter standing naked in a pool of urine, looking
frightened as she tried to cover herself with her hands. On the floor lay her
favorite purple-striped Hanna Andersson outfit and panties.
Rose got dressed and we removed her from the school.
We later learned that Rose had been locked in the closet five times that
morning. She said that during the last confinement, she needed to use the
restroom but didn’t want to wet her outfit. So she disrobed. Rather than help
her, the school called us and then covered the narrow door’s small window with a
file folder, on which someone had written “Don’t touch!”
We were told that Rose had been in the closet almost
daily for three months, for up to an hour at a time. At first, it was for
behavior issues, but later for not following directions. Once in the closet,
Rose would pound on the door, or scream for help, staff members said, and once
her hand was slammed in the doorjamb while being locked inside.
At the time, I notified the Lexington Public Schools,
the Massachusetts Department of Children and Families and the Department of
Mental Health about Rose and other children in her class whom school staff
members indicated had been secluded. If any of these agencies conducted a formal
investigation, I was not made aware of it.
Rose still has nightmares and other symptoms of severe
stress. We brought an action against the Lexington Public Schools, which we
settled when the school system agreed to pay for the treatment Rose needed to
recover from this trauma.
The physical and psychological injuries to children as
a consequence of this disciplinary system is an issue that has found its way to
Congress. Legislation to ban these practices has been introduced in the House
and the Senate, but no vote is expected this year.
Meanwhile, Rose is back in public school and has found
it within her to forgive those involved in her case. “They weren’t bad people,”
she told me. “They just didn’t know about working with children.”
