Consider the following aspects of the academic experience in our philosophy departments. For example, consider some common pedagogical practices we as teachers may integrate into our courses, such as oral presentations, working in small groups, partaking in live class discussions, banning laptops in the classroom, penalizing late assignments, or requiring a formal diagnosis or a doctor’s note to benefit from adaptive measures. Or consider some common criteria for academic excellence, such as the ability to think and respond quickly in order to be viewed as bright or smart, or the requirement to be a full-time student with a stellar GPA in order to be considered for prizes or scholarships. Finally, consider a range of social activities deemed to qualify students as “good citizens” in their department, such as leading the Philosophy Club, socializing at colloquium talks or other events, or building a rapport with teachers by regularly going to their office hours.
While these pedagogical practices, criteria for academic excellence, and social activities can be useful in training, assessing, or getting to know our students, they can also in effect unintentionally exclude, penalize, or discriminate against autistic students, who may find it difficult to navigate and excel in neuronormative academic environments made by and for neurotypicals without much, if any, consideration for autistics. Given both the diversity of neurocognitive profiles in our classrooms and the pedagogical objectives of our courses, how can we ensure that our teaching and learning styles can integrate both successfully?
The following discussion aims to bring attention to neurodiversity and, more specifically, autism, which are respectively a type of diversity and a type of disability that are common in our classrooms yet are often overlooked both in initiatives geared toward equity and inclusion as well as in discussions of ableism. In bringing attention to the need for neuroinclusion, this discussion aims to invite reflection on how we, as educators and mentors, can create environments that make autistic students feel welcome and capable and ultimately thrive in philosophy classrooms and programs, in order to foster their recruitment, retention, and flourishing.
With these goals in mind, this discussion proceeds by reviewing the common pedagogical and academic practices listed above to identify some of their limitations when it comes to creating neuroinclusive environments. It then systematically considers possible alternatives that foster neuroinclusion while adopting, as much as possible, a universal design perspective – in this case, one that highlights the importance of designing environments around neurodiversity.
Universal design aims to create environments that are accessible to all individuals regardless of gender identification, race, age, size, dis/ability, or neurocognitive profile. One core idea of universal design is that it aims to design environments in a way that directly renders them inclusive for everyone by default, such that adaptive measures won’t typically be needed subsequently because the environment is already adapted and accessible to all. Examples of universal design include gender-neutral restrooms, spaces with ramps and elevators, adjustable chairs, or a course policy that automatically offers everyone both synchronous and asynchronous options to fulfill a participation requirement.
One significant advantage of universal design is that it offers environments that everyone can use without effectively forcing members of minoritized groups to choose between accessibility and privacy, or without putting the onus on them to ask for adaptive measures whenever the environment does not follow universal design. In the context of neuroinclusion in the classroom, universal design means that options (e.g., asynchronous modes of participation) that might be useful to neurominoritized students are automatically offered to all students in the course, regardless of their respective neurocognitive profiles. In addition to addressing multiple learning styles regardless of formal diagnoses, this universal-design approach means that students who choose certain options over others to fulfill course requirements will not automatically be “outed” as neurominoritized by doing so. Moreover, designing our courses in a universal, neuroinclusive way avoids burdening neurominoritized students with additional procedures to access neuroinclusive measures.
Let’s start by suggesting some equitable alternatives to common practices we may use in our courses, such as requiring class presentations, work in small groups, or participation in live class discussions; rewarding the model of “be-fast-to-seem-smart”; or encouraging students to attend office hours or social events regularly. These common practices can indeed create considerable barriers for students who may experience social anxiety or who may need or prefer to take more time to process and think about new material or ideas. Neuroinclusive alternatives might include inviting all students in the class to use asynchronous means of participation instead of, or in addition to, synchronous exchanges. Such asynchronous means of participation might include turning in a short reaction paper after each class, contributing to discussions via an online class forum, and the possibility to interact via email.
Moreover, a neuroinclusive way to reimagine class presentations would be to offer all students, regardless of their neurocognitive profiles, equitable alternatives, such as allowing students either to write a paper and share it with the class (e.g., by posting it to the course online platform) or to pre-record their presentation and to share it in class, whether in person or online. To the extent that our pedagogical objective is to have students participate in class and to assess their ability, for example, to research, understand, and share their knowledge of a given topic (rather than their ability to deliver a live performance), options like sharing a paper or a pre-recorded presentation with the class make it possible to reach our pedagogical objectives while simultaneously implementing neuroinclusion through universal course design. In cases where, despite the instructor’s openness to neuroinclusive measures, certain departmental or institutional policies or requirements preclude equitable alternatives such as the possibility of writing a paper or pre-recording the presentation instead of a live presentation, it is worth noting that a neuroinclusive assessment of the class presentation is still possible: specifically, by focusing less on the form or performance aspect of the presentation, and more on its content or substance.
Let’s now turn to some equitable alternatives to practices such as banning laptops in the classroom, penalizing late assignments, or holding social events in loud, bright, or busy spaces. These practices ignore the facts that laptops may serve as accessibility tools to stay focused and take good notes, and that some students may experience difficulties with executive functioning (which affects planning and timing), sensory overload (due to lights, sounds, smells, or air conditioning, for example), or autistic burnout (the exhaustion that results from living in a neuronormative world as an autistic person). To address these concerns, we might consider adopting neuroinclusive measures such as allowing laptops in class, granting extensions without penalties, and gathering in spaces that are calm for the senses.
But allowing laptops in the classroom is admittedly not without its own set of challenges. For example, students who are trying to focus and follow the course may find themselves easily distracted by classmates who are using their laptops to browse the internet or catch up on social media. To avoid this type of situation, some might suggest allowing laptops only for those whose learning style requires it. The problem with this approach is that it unduly forces students to choose between equity and accessibility on the one hand, and privacy and confidentiality on the other. If the policy allows laptops for neurominoritized students only, then simply sitting in class with a laptop now effectively outs a student as neurominoritized, with all the undue stigma this carries. If a student instead (understandably) opts to forego laptop use in order to protect their privacy and confidentiality, they are now precluded from using a crucial accessibility tool required for equity and neuroinclusion. Given these complications, the universal design option – in this case, allowing laptops for everyone – still seems preferable overall. To avoid situations where students are using their laptops in ways that distract others around them, the instructor might encourage students to sit toward the front of the room in a way that protects both accessibility and privacy yet makes it possible to stay focused based on where one chooses to sit.
Finally, let’s look more closely at the common practice of requiring students to have a formal diagnosis or a doctor’s note in order to have access to adaptive measures. This practice, which may be mandated by the instructor, the department, or the institution, neglects the fact that access to a diagnosis or a doctor’s note is not always possible for reasons including, but not limited to, age, income, geographical location, disability, race, language, and the gender and racial biases at play in diagnostic categories, criteria, and evaluations. For example, women and BIPOC folks are underdiagnosed relative to men and Whites when it comes to autism and ADHD, and BIPOC folks are more likely to be misdiagnosed with behavioral conditions rather than accurately recognized as autistic or ADHD. One neuroinclusive alternative here would be to invite students to contact you at any point during the term to discuss measures that would favor both accessibility and learning objectives. Importantly, it’s helpful to make clear to students that you don’t need any private or medical information, but only an indication of what type of measure might be useful. In cases where departmental or institutional policies prohibit this type of approach, it might be worth drawing the department’s or institution’s attention to the fact that their policies might be outdated and run counter to the aims and values of EDI (equity, diversity, inclusion), to which a growing number of departments and institutions are increasingly committed. Should it be difficult for an instructor to raise this question (e.g., should they not be tenured or tenure-track faculty), they might consider relaying the information to a trusted ally on campus who might be able to raise the issue safely.
Let me close with a few more examples of neuroinclusive measures to which students have drawn my attention over the years. One is to make sure written course materials (handouts, Powerpoints, notes) use an accessible font. Another is to convert PDF documents into Word documents to facilitate text-to-speech functionality and personalized editing. A final one is to have a designated note-taker, i.e., a student in the course who is able and willing to take complete notes and to share them with whomever might need them. In cases where institutions do not provide funds for this note-taking task, instructors might encourage their students to volunteer by offering them extra-credit or “service points” as part of their final grade for the course.
Acknowledgements: I am grateful to the students who have generously shared their insights on these questions, as well as to Maeve O’Donovan for organizing the panel “Disabled Philosophers: Equity and Accessibility in the Philosophy Classroom,” which was sponsored by the APA Committee on the Status of Disabled People in the Profession, and as part of which I gave a presentation titled “Addressing Neuroableism in Philosophy: Equity and Accessibility for Autistic Students,” that served as the basis for this blog post. I am also grateful to members of the audience for their questions and suggestions during the Q&A, which also informed the writing of this post.
Amandine Catala
Amandine Catala is an Associate Professor in the Department of Philosophy at the Université du Québec at Montréal (UQAM), where she holds the Canada Research Chair on Epistemic Injustice and Agency. She is an Autistic self-advocate and the co-founder of the Autistic Collective of UQAM, an initiative that aims to bring together and support Autistics who study, work, or teach at UQAM. Her research and teaching focus on feminist, social, and political philosophy and philosophy of disability, which also inform her service.
