We Cannot Move Disability Rights Out of Education

Welcome back to Curious Constructs, where I explore and challenge the barriers that prevent us from bringing our full, authentic selves forward—whether those barriers are personal or systemic.

I became blind at the age of seven. My sister became blind at the age of seven too.

When I think about our childhoods and the opportunities we had, I do so with enormous gratitude, not only to my family, but to my country.

I am proud to be an American who grew up during a period when our nation was steadily moving toward greater disability inclusion. Imperfectly, yes. Unevenly, absolutely. But unmistakably forward.

The public school system did not always get it right. There were barriers. There were moments when my family had to advocate fiercely. But there was also something incredibly powerful underpinning those efforts: the belief that my sister and I belonged in our neighborhood schools, that we deserved access to the same opportunities as our peers, and that disability was not a reason to segregate us from the rest of society.

That belief did not emerge by accident.

It was built through decades of advocacy and landmark legislation, beginning with the non-discrimination provisions of the Rehabilitation Act and strengthened by the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), which guaranteed students with disabilities the right to a public education and ensured individualized education plans. These policies were reinforced by a Department of Education that recognized disability not as a medical problem to be managed elsewhere, but as a matter of civil rights, educational opportunity, and human dignity.

Due to those policies and the decisions my parents made for our education, my sister and I grew up knowing that our blindness did not diminish our right to learn, to contribute, or to lead. We grew up expecting inclusion, not as a privilege, but as a promise.

That promise changed our lives and the lives of many children with disabilities in America.

That is why the recent decision to move the Office of Special Education and Rehabilitative Services (OSERS) and the Office for Civil Rights (OCR) out of the Department of Education is concerning, to say the least. Some will frame this as a bureaucratic reorganization. It is not.

For students with disabilities and their families, where these offices sit is not an administrative detail. It raises a fundamental question: how do we view the education and civil rights of children with disabilities? Is it a matter of equal opportunity or a medical problem to be managed elsewhere?

For decades, the United States has answered that question imperfectly but clearly: Disability is a civil rights issue. Students with disabilities belong in classrooms, on campuses, and in every aspect of school life. Our presence in these spaces is neither charity nor optional; it is valuable to our schools and society.

Moving these offices to the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services sends the opposite message. It also raises a fundamental question about democratic accountability.

Congress created the Department of Education and charged it with carrying out specific responsibilities, including protecting the educational and civil rights of students with disabilities. If an administration can move those responsibilities to other agencies without congressional approval, what does that mean for the laws Congress passed and the communities those laws were meant to protect?

The administration argues that these changes are administrative, that the Department of Education retains ultimate authority while other agencies carry out operational work. However, as may end up being debated in the courts, these offices were not placed within the Department of Education by accident.

Housing disability rights within the Department of Education affirms that students with disabilities are learners first and foremost. It recognizes that disability is not a medical condition to be treated, but part of the human experience.

Congress still has tools at its disposal. Lawmakers can conduct oversight, investigate whether these changes comply with federal law, use the appropriations process to limit or prohibit transfers, and ultimately pass legislation clarifying that these responsibilities must remain within the Department of Education. Whether Congress acts is a political question. Whether it should act is a moral one.

Because this moment is about more than where an office sits on an organizational chart. It is about whether disability rights remain embedded in our nation’s understanding of public life, education included. By accepting this move, we are not simply changing an agency structure; we are changing our expectations of students with disabilities and assuming their needs and potential.

When society lowers its expectations of us, the consequences do not stop at the classroom door. They ripple outward to employment, economic opportunity, civic participation, and how communities understand belonging itself.

Those consequences do not last for a year or even a presidential term; they are everlasting.

My sister and I are part of a generation that benefited from America’s growing commitment to inclusion. We are living proof that when children with disabilities are given access, support, and high expectations, they thrive. They become leaders, innovators, educators, parents, advocates, and public servants. They enrich every aspect of our society.

I want the next generation of children with disabilities to inherit that same reality, to know, as I did, that they belong in their schools, in their communities, and at every table where decisions are made.

History reminds us that progress is not inevitable. It is fought for! Built through advocacy, legislation, and a shared commitment to our collective ideals. We cannot allow a claim of bureaucratic reshuffling to erode what we have worked so hard to gain.

Call your representatives and demand they stand with us!

Until next week — let’s stay curious about ourselves, each other, and the systems that shape our world.

Warmly,

Sara