Inclusive education—everyone nods along when we say it’s important. It’s about making sure every child, no matter their background or abilities, gets the education they deserve. But let’s face it: the system is a mess, and the heavy lifting is being done by teachers who are struggling to keep up. What we need is a serious rethink, not just a feel-good slogan.
As most readers of this blog (all 13 of you) are either teachers or aspiring teachers, you know what I’m talking about. You’re managing classes of 25 or more students, each with their own needs. Some kids have learning challenges, others bring behavioural complexities, and every teacher is expected to deliver results regardless of the complexities involved. Now, on top of that, you’re asked to be experts in inclusive education after taking one unit on it in your degree—understanding and accommodating an ever-expanding array of needs.
This isn’t just a thought experiment; it’s reality. A pilot study I conducted recently found that while teachers recognise the value of inclusive practices, they’re often left without the necessary support from leadership or access to professional development. It’s not that they don’t care—they’re simply overwhelmed. As the Australian Council for Educational Research (2022) points out, nearly 60% of teachers report lacking the resources to support students with complex needs effectively. And as more students arrive with diagnoses, from autism to ADHD to trauma-related challenges, the gap between the ideal of inclusion and the reality of classroom life only widens.
The Integration Model Myth
We keep hearing about “integration” like it’s some magic solution—just put kids with different needs in the same classroom, and poof, inclusion achieved! But true inclusion is more than just physical proximity. It’s about reshaping the way we teach to meet the needs of all students. Tomlinson’s model of differentiation offers a better approach, emphasising adapting teaching to students’ readiness, interests, and learning preferences. It’s about focusing on strengths rather than deficits, shifting from the mindset that sees students as problems to solve.
Yet, differentiation is complex. It’s time-consuming and requires deep knowledge of each student’s learning journey. It’s a tall order when you’re teaching a packed room without extra support. The reality? Many teachers end up improvising or choosing which needs to address given the time constraints, leaving other students without the support they deserve.
The Weight of Inadequate Resources
If we’re serious about making inclusive education a reality, we need to talk about resources. In Australia, over 24% of students present with additional educational needs, according to ACARA (2024), and the trend is only growing. Yet, schools are being asked to do more with less. Learning support coordinators are stretched thin, school leadership is often reactive rather than proactive, and specialist staff are hard to come by.
From my own study, it’s clear that the system isn’t designed to support the level of flexibility required for true inclusion. Teachers in NSW, for example, receive initial training in special needs education as part of their certification, but ongoing professional development is often lacking. And while school leaders may have policies in place, those policies rarely translate into the kind of practical support teachers need daily. It’s a classic case of “we want you to do everything, but we’re not giving you the tools.”
Moving Beyond the Deficit Model
Too often, we talk about students in terms of what they can’t do. This deficit model focuses on fixing problems rather than building on strengths. What if, instead, we saw each child’s needs as a starting point for a tailored educational journey? Differentiation suggests that we should adjust content, processes, and products—what students learn, how they learn, and how they demonstrate their learning. It’s about seeing potential first, not problems.
However, shifting to this approach requires more than just goodwill from teachers. It needs systemic support—smaller class sizes, better training, more in-class support, and a culture that values the complexity of teaching. Until we make those changes, the burden will remain on individual teachers to do the impossible. And that’s not fair to them, or to the students they’re trying so hard to reach.
A Call to Action: Fund the Vision, Not the Slogan
Here’s the bottom line: inclusive education is worth fighting for, but we can’t keep pretending we’ve achieved it just because it’s in the policy books. It’s time to put real investment behind the rhetoric—better resources, more training, and a commitment to smaller class sizes and individualised learning. Let’s shift from expecting teachers to work miracles to building a system that supports them in delivering real inclusion.
If we want every student to feel seen, heard, and valued, we need to ensure their teachers have what they need to make that happen. Inclusion as a philosophy is solid. It’s about respecting and adapting to every student’s unique path. But until we treat inclusion as a shared responsibility rather than an unfunded mandate, we’ll continue to see the same issues play out in classrooms across the country.
Let’s build an education system that’s as inclusive as we want our classrooms to be. It’s time to turn the ideal into reality—one differentiated lesson, one well-supported teacher, and one engaged student at a time.
Maximising Student Potential 