EXPECTATIONS: THE CRITICAL FACTOR
               IN THE EDUCATION OF BLIND CHILDREN
                     by Fredric K. Schroeder

     From the Editor: The following is a banquet address
delivered at the eighth International Conference on Blind and
Visually Impaired Children which took place in Edmonton, Alberta,
Canada, on October 1, 1993. Fred Schroeder, who is the Executive
Director of the New Mexico Commission for the Blind and a member
of the Board of Directors of the National Federation of the
Blind, also serves as President of the International Council on
English Braille and is a noted expert in the education of blind
children. Readers of the Braille Monitor will be familiar with
some of his ideas from previous articles in these pages, but,
given the current debate over full inclusion, this speech seems
particularly relevant. Here it is:

     Perhaps no issue has been more hotly debated than the
question of which educational placement or array of services
represents the best alternative for blind children. We tend to
view this debate as a contemporary issue--full inclusion versus
residential placement. Yet this debate is not new in character or
substance. In 1865 at the laying of the cornerstone of the New
York State Institution for the Blind at Batavia, Samuel Gridley
Howe stated:


          I am constantly applied to by teachers to know how to
     proceed with a blind child; and I always encourage them to keep it
     at home, and let it go to the common school as long as possible.
     (1866, in Blindness 1865, p. 185)

While Howe suggests that public school education is preferable to
residential placement, his lifetime devotion to establishing
schools for the blind reflects his understanding that neither
system is wholly adequate to meet the educational needs of blind
children.
     Perhaps the real difficulty in the debate stems from the
complexity of its issues. Residential schools have certain
natural advantages in designing and implementing programs for
blind children. With the students concentrated in one place,
curricula can be adapted and special media prepared, allowing for
instruction comparable to that available to sighted children.
Residential schools offer Braille libraries and are generally
noted for their athletics programs. Additionally, by being in an
environment with other blind children, the blind child has better
prospects for social interaction than is often the case in public
schools.
     Alternatively, inclusionists put forward the compelling
argument that segregation from society fosters separation and
isolation. They believe that blind and other disabled children
are part of a diverse society and should not be separated from
it. They assert that our educational system can and must be
available to all and must adapt itself to varying needs rather
than excluding those with differences.
     There is a tendency to view the individual placement as
responsible for the blind child's positive or negative
experience. Yet the quality of the individual child's experience
is not fully explained by the placement model itself. Children
going through the very same program frequently have dramatically
different feelings about the education they received. Individual
children bring with them individual human characteristics. Some
adjust readily to change, while others have great difficulty. In
other words, the particular placement is only part of the
equation. 
     I believe that the debate over residential versus integrated
placement asks the wrong question. There is no one structure or
particular type of program placement that is best for blind
children. All models and all systems will inevitably succeed with
some children and fail with others. What is needed, therefore, is
not the refinement or fine tuning of this system or that.
Instead, all systems must be premised on a fundamental belief in
the ability of blind children to compete--each system must begin
with this belief and translate it into expectations.
     Without a clear vision of what can be achieved by blind
children, no reasonable planning can take place. Without certain
fundamental values, no overarching philosophy can emerge. Since
its founding the National Federation of the Blind has embodied a
clear philosophy of blindness rooted in the basic belief that the
blind can compete on terms of equality with the sighted. Marc
Maurer, President of the Federation, has stated:

          In 1940 we organized to speak for ourselves through the
     National Federation of the Blind.... We have replaced the ancient
     terms of negativism with a new language of hope, and society has
     increasingly come to accept us for what we are--normal people with
     normal aspirations and normal abilities. (1990, in Walking Alone
     and Marching Together, p. 718)

     I administered a public school program for five years. What
distinguished our program was our fundamental belief in blind
children. When I speak of a fundamental belief in blind children,
I mean just that--a shared personal conviction that our children
are inherently normal and capable of assuming an active role in
society, a belief that they can grow up and marry and have jobs
and raise families and live a normal life, a belief that they
will have strengths and weaknesses and, if encouraged to build on
those strengths, can excel, establishing for themselves a place
of real equality.
     It is important to distinguish what I call a fundamental
belief in the ability of blind children from the less-defined,
generalized belief which exists throughout our educational
system. Certainly teachers as a whole seek to train and encourage
their students to learn and achieve. What separates a fundamental
belief in the ability of blind children from a generalized belief
is the matter of clear expectations.
     In the program I administered we strove to put into practice
our fundamental belief in blind children. We believed that, given
the right training, our students could compete in all subject
areas on terms of real equality. We were not satisfied with the
methods we used to teach the students unless they met this
criterion. For this reason we concentrated intensively on the
basic skills needed by blind children. We instructed them in
Braille reading and writing, cane travel, typing, handwriting,
and use of the abacus. These core skills represented the natural
expression of our philosophy of blindness. We believed that our
children could compete and therefore gave them the tools
necessary to put that belief into action. By giving them skills
and holding high expectations for them, we enabled our students
to develop the self-confidence to participate fully, both
socially and academically.
     We held a fundamental belief in the ability of our students
and translated that belief into action. We believed that our
children could compete and gave them the skills necessary to make
this belief a reality. When they were given the skills to meet
our expectations, they developed confidence and learned to
achieve. By succeeding and believing in themselves, they began
the process of internalizing our belief in them. In time our
expectations of them became their expectations of themselves; our
fundamental belief in their inherent normalcy became their own. 
     What blind children lack is not access to services, but
access to high expectations. Society holds only minimal
expectations for blind people. Consequently the blind child is
rewarded for virtually any level of performance. Even the most
forward-looking people rarely hold more than tenuous and
uncertain expectations for the blind. It is not surprising,
therefore, that blind children lack a clear image of their own
potential. To develop a real sense of their own ability, blind
children must be in an environment with clearly defined
expectations.
     When I began administering a public school program, I found
a lack of clear expectations for blind children. The staff
certainly had good intentions for their students and were doing
their best to train and motivate them. Yet they had a generalized
rather than fundamental belief in their students. None of the
children used canes, and therefore they were at a real
disadvantage in getting around the school. They had been taught
to trail walls and use their feet to find steps. Blind children
were allowed to start out five minutes early for recess so that
they could get to the playground before the other children. By
and large, partially sighted children were responsible for
leading the totally blind ones. At lunch time they went early to
the cafeteria and sat together while the cafeteria workers
brought them their trays. They were integrated primarily into
non-academic subjects, except for those students who had enough
vision to use print. This program was not, and is not, uncommon.
Personnel in these programs did not have bad motives, were not
poorly trained, and were not lazy. In fact, they had the very
best of intentions. In other words, they had a generalized rather
than fundamental belief in their students.
     In restructuring our program, we began by integrating a new
philosophy about blindness. Our fundamental belief in blind
people expressed itself through high expectations. We believed
that, if blind children were to compete, we must first
demonstrate (through our actions) our belief in their ability. We
stopped the practice of having partially-sighted children lead
the totally blind. Rather we taught children to use white canes
and encouraged them to walk quickly and confidently. Wall-
trailing went by the wayside. We stopped releasing our children
early for recess, believing that, if we treated them as though
they were vulnerable, they would learn to act as though they were
vulnerable and would begin to believe it.
     School personnel had some initial difficulty adjusting to
these changes. I remember the principal's telling me that we
needed to build a sidewalk leading from the main building to the
swings. She said that our students liked to swing during recess;
but, since we no longer let them go early, the swings were all
taken by the time they arrived. She thought a sidewalk would help
them find the swings more quickly. When I asked how the children
were currently getting to the swings, she told me that they had
been taught to trail the fence around the perimeter of the
playground. At the point closest to the swings, a rag had been
tied into the chain-link fence. When they found the rag, the
children were to stand with their backs to the fence and walk
straight out to find the swings. No wonder our children were
always the last to arrive at the swings.
     I told her that what the children needed was, not a sidewalk
across the playground, but more practice orienting themselves in
large open spaces. When leaving the building, the children should
head out across the playground in the general direction of the
swings. Over time they would learn to recognize certain natural
landmarks such as other playground equipment and slopes in the
ground. With practice they would get better at judging the
distance and direction to travel. Additionally, since swings are
a high-interest activity stimulating much competition, our
students would have to be quick if they were to nab a swing. 
     The principal was apprehensive at the prospect of a half
dozen blind children running at top speed with their canes in a
crowd of three hundred youngsters. What she had not considered
was that, when the recess bell rang, there were three hundred
children running at top speed, but they were all running in the
same direction--from the building onto the playground. Expecting
that the blind children in our program could compete on terms of
real equality and giving them the tools to make it possible, we
found that they met and surpassed our expectations. When the
blind children in our program first learned to use canes, we did
not teach them to run. They taught themselves to run because they
felt a compelling need to get to the swings first. When they were
released early from class, they walked slowly and carefully--
those with some sight helping those with none. They had no need
to run and no belief that they could. When they learned to use
canes and went to recess with everyone else, they found a need to
run and hence learned to do so. 
     But this was only the beginning. Sometimes they weren't fast
enough. Sometimes the swings were all taken when they got there.
Consequently, they looked for other things to do. They found and
used other pieces of playground equipment. They met other
children and made new friends. They began to believe that they
were normal children; acted accordingly; and, as a result, were
viewed by others as normal.
     We also stopped the practice of letting the children go
early to lunch. We taught them how to get in line with the other
children and use their canes (gently) to keep track of the person
in front of them. We taught them how to carry a tray while using
a cane and how to find an empty seat. Finally, we taught them to
bus their own trays on their way out of the lunchroom. By being
part of the crowd, they naturally ended by sitting with a variety
of students, which contributed to expanded circles of friends.
     In academic areas we applied the same fundamental belief in
the basic equality of our students. When I was in graduate
school, the concept of social integration was very popular. The
basic concept was that placing blind children in an age-
appropriate setting, we were assured, would facilitate social
integration. Yet this concept was incompatible with our overall
philosophy. If we believed that blind children were normal and
that, given proper training, they could compete on terms of
equality, then social integration would send a contradictory
message. If blind children are in classrooms and unable to
perform the same work as the other students, how can they learn
to believe that they are equal? 
     We determined, therefore, to concentrate first on the skills
of blindness and mainstream children only in those areas in which
their skills allowed them to function competitively. This meant
that our children received intensive training in Braille reading
and writing, as well as training in typing, handwriting, use of
the abacus, and of course cane travel. As children were able to
read at grade level, they were integrated into language arts and
social studies. As they became skilled in the use of the abacus,
they were integrated into math. Consequently, they were able to
perform competitively and thereby internalize a vision of
themselves as inherently normal. 
     Let me reiterate that the key was not the educational
placement; the critical element was our belief in their essential
normalcy and the tangible demonstration of our belief through our
actions. By believing in blind children and having high
expectations for them, we enabled them consistently to reach and
surpass our expectations. 
     One day one of our students came to his teacher to complain
that his friends had begun playing tag during recess. When
playing tag, one child is "it," and his or her objective is to
tag or touch another child, thereby making the other child "it."
Since none of the children wishes to be "it," the game moves at a
fast pace. The problem for a blind child is that it is difficult
to know who "it" is at any given moment and, more important,
where "it" is. This blind child complained that, since he didn't
know where "it" was, he didn't know which way to run and thus
spent much of the game being "it." 
     We had spent considerable time and energy convincing our
children that they were normal and could compete on terms of
equality. We had taught them through our words and deeds that,
given the right training, they could function competitively with
their sighted peers. We now had a seven-year-old putting our
philosophy to the test. In the game of tag he didn't feel very
equal, yet he had an expectation that he was capable of full
participation, so he came to us in the absolute certainty that a
technique must exist which would allow him to compete. After
considerable soul-searching, we determined to talk to the
youngster and explain to him that the world had been constructed
largely by the sighted with sight in mind, and after all there
are some things that the blind cannot do (such as driving)
because the activity itself is premised on the ability of the
driver to see. We hoped we could explain to him that tag was like
driving--constructed by the sighted for the sighted and that it
did not mean that he was inferior. We hoped that we could
explain, in a way that a seven-year-old would understand, that
the blind were not less capable merely because there were some
activities in which sight was an overwhelming advantage. 
     In the meantime this young fellow had grown tired of waiting
for us to come up with a solution. He believed he was as capable
as anyone else and believed that full participation was a product
of having or thinking up the right technique. He realized he
could not see, but, rather than feeling bad about it, he had
learned to meet the situation head-on. Soon thereafter, before we
had a chance to talk with him, he came to school with a small
glass jar. At recess he put a few pebbles in it and replaced the
lid. He told his friends that, when they were playing tag,
whoever was "it" had to shake the jar; and, if he or she did not,
the tag did not count. He still did not know who "it" was, but at
least he knew where "it" was. 
     All of us with our master's degrees and years of experience
were prepared to sell a seven-year-old blind child short--not out
of malice, poor training, or even lack of imagination. Presumably
as a group we had at least average powers of creativity. What
limited us was a subtle, almost unrecognizable, internalization
of society's diminished view of blindness. Even though we
actively worked to promote a positive philosophy of blindness, we
were subject to the negative conditioning of society. No matter
how hard we fought it, we were still ready to accept partial
participation while intellectually wishing to believe in full
participation. 
     This student solved his own problem primarily because he
believed in himself. The critical factor was his own expectation
and fundamental belief in himself as a blind person. He believed
that he was equal and acted accordingly. He would not settle for
a lesser role but thought and questioned and tried until he had
an answer. Our challenge is to develop a clear vision in
ourselves of what we believe about blindness. We must replace our
generalized belief in blind children with a fundamental belief.
This represents an overarching philosophy guiding our programs
but, more important, guiding our expectations. If we have a clear
vision of what blind children can achieve, they will invariably
reach and surpass our highest expectations for them.
     Inevitably our programs and services develop from our
beliefs, explicitly and implicitly reflecting our expectations.
The real problem with today's programs for blind children is
their lack of an effective philosophy. Education of the blind has
become trapped by its own thinking, which has resulted in a
system in which children are encouraged to progress from where
they are, without a vision of where we want them to be. We have
become complacent, using progress as our measure of success. We
have taken this lack of clear vision and embraced it as a virtue.
We have become the champions of individualized programs without
clearly defined expectations. Yet doing better today than
yesterday is simply not good enough. By using progress as the
measure of success, we mislead ourselves into believing that our
educational systems are working effectively. The real problem of
a generalized belief in blind people is that it lacks definition.
The progress measure of success rewards forward movement
irrespective of whether it is constructive.
     Today's Braille literacy problem did not emerge from a
negative view of blindness, but rather from a lack of any
specific view at all. If a child has some sight and is struggling
to read print and if he or she begins to read better by using a
CCTV or stronger magnifier, the goal of progress is achieved. The
child is reading better, which is of course what we want. This
satisfies our generalized belief in blind children. The progress
standard is not so much wrong as incomplete. A child's making
progress is good, but only if it is progress toward a worthy
goal, premised on a fundamental belief in the ability of blind
people to compete. I believe that blind children are
fundamentally normal, so I expect that they can become literate.
Since I believe that they are normal, my expectation for their
literacy is that they will read and write like their sighted
peers. For this reason I am not satisfied by a child's
progressing from reading ten words per minute to twenty or thirty
words per minute if this is the best that he or she will achieve,
given a particular medium.
     Progress is not enough. It must be coupled with expectation.
If a child is trained to read Braille knowing that it is
reasonable to expect that child will learn to read at a rate
comparable to that of his or her sighted peers, then progress
takes on a new and positive dimension. Progress in response to
substantive expectation is progress worth applauding. Progress
from a position of inferiority to a position of less inferiority,
without the prospect of full participation, is not only
insufficient but damaging because it erroneously teaches the
child that, due to blindness, he or she is less capable. Dr.
Kenneth Jernigan, President Emeritus of the National Federation
of the Blind, expressed it best:

          We have learned that it is not our blindness which has put
     us down and kept us out, but what we and others have thought about
     our blindness. (1990, reprinted in Walking Alone and Marching
     Together, p. 428)

     As educators, teacher trainers, and parents we must actively
work toward developing a strong and positive conception of
blindness within ourselves. This can only be accomplished by
spending time with blind adults who can help us reshape and
redefine our expectations. Ruby Ryles, a nationally recognized
teacher of blind children in the United States, pointed out:

          The average V.I. teacher has had little or no contact with
     competent blind adults and therefore does not imagine, cannot
     imagine, the tragic results of the omission of basic skill
     training. (June, 1989, in the Braille Monitor, p. 308)

     We must strive to replace our generalized beliefs with
fundamental beliefs in the capacity of blind people. With these
fundamental beliefs our philosophy of blindness will guide us
intuitively to do what is right. Through our philosophy we will
naturally hold high expectations for our students and replace
undirected progress with that which is goal-driven. We will
automatically know whether a decision or strategy is the right
one by the degree to which it accomplishes the objective of full
participation for the child. 
     But, most important, a personal fundamental belief in the
ability of blind people will result in the passing on of this
belief to our children. If we believe in them and demonstrate
that belief in all that we do, they too will learn to believe in
themselves, internalizing our expectations. The skills we teach
are not a complete package, but a starting point. If our children
learn to believe in themselves, they will draw from these skills,
applying them in new ways and in new situations. They will build
on this foundation and integrate themselves into society. No
master's-level educator will have to teach them the correct
method for playing tag. By believing in themselves and assuming
that they can function competitively, they will automatically
look for the techniques to put their beliefs into action. The
critical factor is expectations--expectations stemming from an
overarching philosophy rooted in a fundamental belief in the
capacity of blind people to live full and productive lives.