We need to talk about the word inclusion—because somewhere along the way, its meaning got watered down, boxed up, and too often, assigned to a room down the hall.

Dr. Cathy Pratt said it plainly in her piece There Is No Place Called Inclusion:

“Inclusion isn’t a classroom, a student, or a school—it’s a belief that all students should be fully part of the general education community. Segregating students—even for ‘specialized’ purposes—erodes what inclusion is meant to be.”

That one stopped me in my tracks. Because how many times do we say we believe in inclusion…only to start our planning with pull-outs, separate classes, or "special" spaces?

Let’s be clear:
Inclusion isn’t about geography. It’s not a spot on the schedule. It’s not a label we put on a room.
Inclusion is a commitment, a decision to design environments from the start that assume everyone belongs. Not just physically, but socially, emotionally, and academically.

When we say “this child needs something different,” the solution should be inside the room, not outside of it. When we say “this child requires support,” the response shouldn’t be separation, it should be adaptation. Collaboration. Innovation.

I’m not saying every support can be delivered inside one room without creativity or effort. But I am saying that separating kids from their peers as a first move, because it’s “easier” or “what we’ve always done," isn’t inclusion. It’s managed exclusion.

So here’s the challenge:
Let’s stop designing for “most” and then figuring out where to put “the rest.”
Let’s stop calling a room “inclusive” when it’s really just another form of segregation.
Let’s do the harder, better work of building classrooms and communities that are truly for all.

Because if we believe in inclusion, and I hope we do, then our systems, schedules, and classrooms should reflect it.

Not just in name. But in practice.