Kara and Ronin

Ronin told the Royal Commission its challenge is ‘to make the little stuff big stuff’.

The ‘little stuff’ is the systemic unfairness and neglect his daughter Kara and his family experience almost daily. It’s ‘not criminal’ and rarely ‘leads to a public outcry’ but, he says, it’s just as damaging.

Kara is in a special unit in a mainstream high school. She ‘has a global development delay … walks with difficulty and requires a wheelchair’. She is incontinent and wears nappies.

Not long ago Kara broke her hip. When her orthopaedic surgeon said she could return to school, her parents thought it would be straightforward.

But it wasn’t. The school required a ‘return to school contract’ and a certain type of medical certificate.

One of the clauses in the contract ‘entitled the school to revoke her access should the school elevator be out of operation as she was wheelchair-bound after the break’.

The school was also concerned ‘the presence of a wheelchair on the school grounds was a risk to other children – who could hurt themselves if they ran into the chair’.

These arbitrary decisions meant Kara was denied access to school at times and her parents – both medical professionals – ­missed countless days of work.

During COVID-19 the school again cited health concerns to deny Kara access to school. Staff in the special unit decided they would no longer be able to change Kara’s nappies. Kara was forced to stay home for months longer than her peers.

The school has a policy of not allowing non-school staff – including allied health professionals – onto its grounds. This affects Kara and her family in many ways.

During the COVID pandemic, it fell to Kara’s parents – despite being essential workers – to juggle work and Kara’s care.

Kara’s NDIS package includes speech and occupational therapy which improve Kara’s communication and behaviour and ‘make her happier and easier to care for’. Ronin says it is also an opportunity for regular ‘individualised professional support at zero cost to the school’ and could be an opportunity for teachers to collaborate with specialist experts.

The school cites the risk and disruption to students as the reason they exclude these specialists. But Ronin believes it is ‘a deep insecurity of the staff in the school’. He says they do not want ‘to be shown up for any ignorance, prefer to deprive the children and themselves of opportunities to learn from professionals’.

Because of this policy, Kara has to attend therapy at the end of a long day at school and her parents have to take time off work.

This policy has resulted in detentions and suspensions for Kara. For example one time she was suspended for pulling another child’s hair. Kara didn’t connect her suspension with the hair pulling, but when Ronin informed Kara’s therapists the behaviour was immediately addressed and modified.

Ronin is also concerned the school pushes ahead with the unit curriculum with no consideration for Kara’s abilities. For example Kara can’t swim, but she has a life-saving certificate as per the curriculum.

Ronin had complained to the department to no avail. ‘Telephoning or writing to the [education department] about problems is … pointless as [they are] an expert at ensuring nobody … is available,’ he said.

Many teachers have told Ronin they too are frustrated by the system but feel powerless to intervene.

‘The problems we have described are endemic and begin with our daughter’s special needs unit that believes the unit is a “mainstream service” that must follow a curriculum, and cannot allow specialists on the premises as these would disrupt the class. They continue with principals who acknowledge that special needs is not “really their thing” and defer to the special needs unit head. It then continues with the [department] itself where the likes of the [senior managers] cannot respond to little stuff.’