Landmark360

Many years ago, I wrote a blog post for the Landmark School on the topic of disability discrimination. I talked about blatant discrimination with name-calling. Back then, I watched the Norwich University (NU) football team win 19–9 against Gallaudet University. I overheard words like “dumb,” “stupid,” and “retard” from NU spectators. These words weren't comments on the Gallaudet players’ performance. The derogatory remarks referred to the players’ disabilities; Gallaudet students are deaf or hard of hearing. 

A decade later, I wonder: Am I still hearing such discrimination? I sure am. But not often spoken with the same words.

My work—as CEO of EmpowerED Consulting Group, and as the mother of three neurodiverse sons—gives me a unique lens for seeing how disability discrimination persists, often in subtle but powerful ways. Society has more language; even the word neurodiversity has become a household word. We talk about biases and unconscious biases. We know more, but disability discrimination persists. 

I offer three recent experiences that have shaped my current thinking about disability discrimination. 

Scenario One: Lowered Expectations

It begins, as it often does, in a school meeting. We recently participated in an Individualized Educational Program (IEP) meeting for my client, Tim, a high-performing student with dyslexia and a slower processing speed. We asked for two simple accommodations—extra time and teacher notes. Tim was thriving in his Advanced Placement (AP) classes, yet what followed was a one-hour debate. Several teachers suggested that he drop to lower-level college-preparatory (CP) classes instead.

I sat there, perplexed but not surprised. Tim’s grades were among the highest in his classes. He was simply asking for a level playing field. Some teachers even worried that other students might perceive accommodations as “cheating.”

I explained that these supports (extra time and notes) are standard in higher education. Yet, while the team easily approved Tim for CP courses, they refused him accommodations for AP courses. This was blatant discrimination. Why should a student’s diagnosis close the door to advanced coursework when he’s proven capable and committed?

Time and time again, I see capable students with disabilities steered into lower-level classes—not because of a lack of intellect, but because of systemic bias. Accommodations exist to remove barriers, not to lower expectations.

That experience reminded me how discrimination doesn’t always shout; sometimes, it whispers through lowered expectations. I saw a similar tension play out in my own family.  

Scenario Two: The Weight of Disclosure

Our middle son, Dylan, attended Landmark from third through 11th grade, a place that embraces disability as difference, not deficit. When he transitioned to an early college program for his senior year, we discussed that he might choose when—or if—to disclose his dyslexia.

True to form, Dylan began the year being open about it. Classmates asked, “Do you read backwards?” or “How can you be in an early college program if you have dyslexia?” Soon, the reactions grew exhausting for Dylan, an engineering student taking advanced math.

After several of these exchanges, Dylan decided to stop disclosing. As my grandmother used to say, “First impressions are everything.” When someone isn’t enlightened, your truth can fall flat or worse, be misunderstood. Disclosure should be a choice, never an obligation, and certainly not a burden. 

That lesson—how systems and perceptions can unintentionally punish honesty—came full circle again this summer with our oldest son.

Scenario Three: Honesty Backfires

When he went to renew his driver’s license when a simple act of transparency set off a chain of unnecessary hurdles. He’s been driving safely since he was sixteen. Now a graduate student, he’s grown into acceptance of his disability—no longer resisting the label, but understanding it as part of who he is.

At the Department of Motor Vehicles, he did something simple yet profound: he checked the box indicating he had a disability. That one honest act triggered a month-long ordeal. His license was suspended until he produced a doctor’s note stating he was fit to drive, despite having no physical or cognitive condition that affects his ability behind the wheel.

It took three calls, including one to the Commissioner of Motor Vehicles, to resolve it. The message was clear: even honesty can be penalized when systems aren’t built to understand disability.

Disability Rights For All

Ten years later, what’s changed? We’ve made some progress in the disability community, with increased awareness, more vocabulary, and more inclusive statements. However, I am unsure that awareness is reaching the broader community and our systems. Disability discrimination still hides in everyday decisions—in who’s deemed “ready” for advanced classes, who feels safe to disclose, and who’s punished for honesty.

What gives me hope is the next generation—students like Tim, Dylan, and my oldest—who continue to challenge these barriers simply by showing up as their full selves. As educators, parents, and advocates, our work is to ensure that the doors people with disabilities push against finally stay open. I challenge folks to stop and as yourselves, “Am I facing discrimination?” Stop and ask further questions; do not follow the norm. Get comfortable questioning and asking others to think differently about eliminating disability discrimination. 

About the Author

Angela Gowans P'23, CEO and Founder of EmpowerED Consulting Group, has supported families across the U.S. and internationally since 2013 through her full-service educational advocacy and consulting practice. A former staffer for then-Congressman Bernie Sanders, and then as a lobbyist for the American Federation of Teachers. Angela has served in advisory roles on several boards, including the New England Consortium on Deafblindness and Senator Sanders’s Disability Advisory Council.

As a parent of three children with disabilities, she brings a family-centered, collaborative approach to her work as an advocate, mediator, and family coach. Angela’s deep knowledge of education law and legislative systems allows her to guide families through evaluations, placements, mediation, and complex special education issues. She lives in Beverly, MA, with her husband, Robert.