Disability Studies Quarterly Spring 2009, Volume 29, No.2 <www.dsq-sds.org> Copyright 2009 by the Society for Disability Studies

Introduction

The social movements of the last few decades greatly informed and influenced the lives of individuals labeled with disabilities (Wappett, 2002; Ward, 1996; Wehmeyer, 1996). Similar to the women's and civil rights movements, individuals with disabilities have worked to counter discrimination and assert their right to equitable opportunities within education, employment, and the public sector (Fleischer & Zames, 2001). In response to implicit and explicit ideologies that have perceived of people with disabilities as incapable, unintelligent, and either unwilling or unable to contribute to society, individuals with disabilities have labored to counter these myths. Through activism that paralleled the social movements of the 1960s, individuals with disabilities have asserted their needs, exerted personal agency, and advocated to be acknowledged with dignity and respect (Shapiro, 1993; Ward, 1996).

The philosophy of self-determination evolved as a result of the above identified social movements (Pennell, 2001). Although the definition of self-determination continues to be debated (see Turnbull & Turnbull, 2006; Pennell, 2001), the concept typically encompasses various elements including: self-awareness, independence, choice, reflection, and self advocacy (Nereny, 2005). The National Resource Center on Supported Living and Choice (NRC) conceptualized self-determination as a process that is person-centered and person-directed. Inherent within this process are the principles of freedom, authority, autonomy, and responsibility (Nerney & Shumway, 1996).

The intent of this paper is to explore how self-determination is defined and enacted within educational settings. I am interested in how self-determination as a curriculum or specific set of skills to be acquired either enhances or subverts self-determination as a "philosophy grounded in democratic values and constitutional principles of autonomy and liberty" (p.1). That is, how might self-determination as a curriculum undermine the principles of self-determination: freedom, authority, autonomy, and responsibility (Nerney & Shumway, 1996)?

Good intentions gone bad: The quandaries surrounding self-determination

The emphasis on self-determination and the subsequent teaching of specific skills aimed to promote and encourage freedom, autonomy, authority, and responsibility is a valued educational outcome (Sands & Wehmeyer, 1996). Within the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), self-determination is a fundamental component of the mandated transition planning and services that all students labeled with disabilities are entitled to receive. The focus on self-determination as an educational outcome has been accepted as progress by many scholars in the field of special education (see Brewer, 2002). Yet, this progress has also been critiqued.

As Storey (2005) pointed out, the well-intended concept of "self-determination can be used in ways that is the antithesis of what it is intended to be" (p. 232). He argued that students labeled with disabilities are rarely provided with opportunities to exert personal agency and make informed choices. Rather, students labeled with disabilities are often not "aware of and [or] have access to [meaningful] choices" (p. 232, italics original). Individuals with disabilities are often limited with regard to very basic choices such as where and with who they live with, how they spend their time and money, and even what they eat (The Center on Human Policy Fact Sheet, 2007). Thus, efforts at creating and fostering environments that support students in their freedom to exert authority, autonomy, and responsibility over their lives have gone unrealized.

Brewer (2002) drew attention to a second dilemma surrounding self-determination. He noted with irony, "Educators are caught in this paradox of empowerment and control as youth are expected to learn how to make good choices, while many if not most educational choices are made for them" (p.39). In short, how can an educational system that tightly controls curricula and holds teachers and districts to strict accountability guidelines empower and support students in exerting personal agency? (Brewer, 2002).

This research paper acknowledges the above dilemmas. It extends upon the impasses surrounding self-determination by exploring the paradoxical nature of self-determination as a set of skills and as a philosophy grounded in the principles of freedom, authority, autonomy, and responsibility (Brewer, 2002; Nerney & Shumway, 1996). In the following sections, I describe the research methodology and methods, share my participant's experiences, discuss the paradoxical nature of these experiences, and offer an alternative framework for supporting self-determination in classrooms.

Methodology and Methods

This research paper arose from a larger research study where I explored the lived educational experiences of four, African American women labeled with a disability and from disadvantaged economic backgrounds. During this research, I became especially interested in a woman named Shana. She was born with cerebral palsy and a visual impairment. Shana lived with her grandmother and extended family in a two-story house in an urban city. Shana worked part-time at a local pizza restaurant.

I came to know Shana through numerous semi-structured interviews over a period of six months. During this time, Shana shared with me her experiences attending a segregated school for students with visual and multiple impairments. Although the initial intent of this larger research project did not center on issues of self-determination, I found Shana's stories elicited thought-provoking questions with regard to self-advocacy, voice, and empowerment.

My interest in exploring the intricacies of Shana's life and educational experiences was facilitated by qualitative methods. Qualitative research was flexible, multi-dimensional in nature, and allowed me to probe deeply into Shana's experiences. Specifically, I employed an interpretivist approach to inquiry (Smith, 1989). This approach sought to gain a deeper understanding of Shana's experiences by exploring how she made meaning, assigned meaning, or experienced meaning within her educational experiences.

The Pitfalls of Self-Determination

As noted above, the concept of self-determination is a valued educational outcome. This means that students with disabilities who receive educational and related support services through an Individualized Education Plan also receive related transition services beginning no later than age 14. Transition services are defined as a coordinated set of activities designed to assist with the transition from school to post-school activities. The transition process is based on student needs, interests, and preferences (Mandlawitz, 2007). As part of this process, students often receive instruction intended to teach specific skills thought to be necessary to become self-determined individuals and make a successful transition from school to post-school activities. Typically, these skills are identified as "functional" or "life skills" and entail teaching students to become adept at budgeting, time management, cooking, laundry, and shopping.

In reviewing Shana's educational documents, she received the required transition services and related supports outlined by the law. The Individualized Education Plan (IEP) and accompanying data detailed transition activities centered on teaching Shana many of the above identified skills to live and work in the community. Thus, as I immersed myself in Shana's story, my first impression was that all the "t's had been crossed and i's dotted" — meaning that the teachers, support staff, and administrators had met every legal requirement to provide Shana with transition services as outlined by IDEA.

Yet as I listened to Shana share her story, I realized that while she had received a "life skills" curriculum centered on teaching the perceived skills needed to live and work independently, her experiences did not entirely resemble self-determination as a democratic ethos. Although the legal requirements had been met, I was less certain that Shana had been afforded and supported in opportunities to exert authority, autonomy or responsibility over her life. There appeared to be a disjuncture between the skills Shana learned and the opportunities she had to use the skills in a manner that would support self-determination as a democratic outcome.

The most striking example of this disjunction related to Shana signing her name. Shana described many lessons where she was required to practice signing her name over and over; yet, she could not recall being asked to sign her IEP. Furthermore, when I asked her to sign a permission form to participate in this research, her grandmother quickly interjected that she would sign the form for Shana. Relenting to her grandmother's interjection, Shana rolled her eyes and turned her head away. Examples like this nonverbal interaction between Shana and myself indicated to me that Shana possessed the desire to exert personal agency, but she had limited opportunities to do so. For this reason, I was troubled by many of Shana's stories.

Confirming the work of Storey (2005) and Brewer (2002), Shana's experiences revealed that she was provided with a limited number of options. For instance, her meals and snacks were predetermined each day. On occasion when she was afforded the opportunity to choose a snack, she described the choices as "bad and really bad," noting the food at the residential facility had much to be desired.

Further illuminating one of the quandaries of self-determination, Shana was taught a few select skills and encouraged to enact them only in pre-selected environments. For example, she was taught to fill out job applications but allowed to apply for one predetermined job. Thus, while her curriculum focused on the teaching of skills to live independently, she was routinely denied the opportunity to make daily decisions for herself, exemplifying "the paradox of empowerment and control" (Brewer, 2002, p. 39).

Another example of this paradox is Shana's experiences with physical therapy. Although she adamantly recalled attempting to quit physical therapy, she was not allowed to do so. When she attempted to provide input into her bi-weekly sessions, she was told "I'll [the physical therapist] decide what is best for you." Thus, she was afforded no choices with regard to the type or daily regiment of physical therapy that she endured. On occasion when she was permitted to chose between two exercises, Shana stated, "I never liked either choice, both were awful. . . . The choice I wanted was to not do physical therapy."

These examples led me to grapple with the question of whether she had been genuinely afforded the freedom to make choices and exert autonomy, authority, and responsibility in her life. Her stories revealed that she was, in fact, quite self-determined, but was often denied the opportunity to exert personal agency. In fact, I became suspicious of the formalized process of transition planning, including the teaching of specific skills to foster self-determination. The specific skills and strategies that Shana was taught did not enhance her ability to exert and be recognized as a self-determined person. Rather, these skills appeared so narrow in their focus that they restricted Shana's opportunities. I began to wonder if the teaching of specific skills served as a guise, reproducing her oppressive circumstances. That is, had Shana received skill and strategy instruction aimed only at compliance and predetermined outcomes?

To examine this question, I returned to and extended upon the work of Brewer (2002) and Storey (2005). First, I examined the teaching of self-determination skills from a technical-rational framework. I argued that when educators approach self-determination from a technical-rational framework, self-determination as a democratic outcome cannot be realized. That is, self-determination is no longer person-centered or person-directed and thus, denies or limits opportunities for individuals to assert authority, autonomy, and responsibility. Next, I employed Foucault (1977, 1980) to assert that when self-determination is enacted within the technical-rational framework of special education, the concept becomes the opposite of the movement's intent, instead resembling a process of normalization. Last, I drew upon the work of Willis (1977) and Giroux (1983a, 1983b) to describe how Shana's educational experiences inevitably led her to reproduce her oppressive circumstances.

Special education and self-determination: A conflict of interest?

The field of special education is rooted in the assumption that disability is a pathological condition wherein differential diagnosis is objective and useful (Skrtic, 1995). Special education is conceived of as a rationally coordinated group of services that help students by providing instruction based upon direct and reductionist methods of instruction (Skrtic, 1995). This technical-rational paradigm emphasizes breaking down material into smaller parts and presenting these pieces devoid of meaningful context. Within this instructional framework, the teacher's responsibility mirrors that of a technician (Iano, 1990). The instruction that ensues resembles what Freire (2003) describes as the "banking" concept of education wherein "education . . . becomes an act of depositing, in which the students are the depositories and the teacher the depositor" (p. 72).

While the underlying tenets of special education and the technical-rational framework have been extensively critiqued for continuing to oppress individuals labeled with disabilities (see Gallagher et. al., 2004), pedagogy rooted in this framework continues to prevail. Below I describe how Shana received instruction emphasizing a technical-rational approach to teaching self-determination skills. I discuss how this framework subverted the underlying tenets of self-determination including: choice making, independence, and autonomy.

For Shana, the teaching of self-determination skills was part of a curriculum described as "life skills." Each day Shana received instruction in budgeting, money management, time, self-help skills, cooking, and laundry. The purpose of this instruction was to teach Shana to become self-sufficient, independent, and hence, self-determined.

Shana's classroom had a full kitchen and laundry area that permitted teachers to provide instruction in cooking, cleaning, and laundry. Shana recalled that the lessons she received were helpful, stating, "At some point I would have to do these things for myself." However, she was also frustrated by the systematic nature of the instruction. For instance, she shared that she loved to cook, but she complained, "We always had to cook whatever they [the teachers] chose. We never could choose our own food, and we couldn't experiment like I like to." Shana had grown up in a family that prided themselves on cooking. Shana had learned to cook from her grandmother and bragged that she didn't need a recipe. Her grandmother reiterated Shana's skills declaring, "That girl can cook anything, doesn't need a recipe or nothing." Yet, in the classroom Shana was not allowed to cook her favorite meals; instead, she was required to learn to cook "boring" dishes such as boxed macaroni, hamburger helper, and spaghetti. From Shana's perspective, these were rudimental dishes that she had little interest in cooking or eating.

Shana also complained about the tedious and boring menu worksheets that students were required to complete prior to cooking. These worksheets required students to order the specific steps, to match ingredient pictures to vocabulary, and to copy safety procedures. Shana stated, "They were so boring, and I would get lazy about my writing, and the teacher would make me recopy over and over until all my letters and words were neat and straight. I can tell you one thing; I didn't need any worksheet to tell me how to cook."

This example illuminates the technical-rational approach to instruction that was emphasized within Shana's schooling experiences. Cooking skills were broken down into small pieces, devoid of any meaningful context and mastery of these pieces was required prior to cooking. In the example from above, Shana was required to complete a worksheet outlining a neat breakdown of cooking steps before she was allowed to cook. Although Shana had prior cooking experience and enjoyed experimenting with her recipes, she was required to follow only the sequential steps without deviating.

Having listened to Shana share her cooking experiences, I wondered if Shana even required instruction in cooking, let alone instruction that was devoid of student-choice and a meaningful context. I realized that teaching Shana cooking skills via this predetermined curriculum was inappropriate and did not reflect Shana's needs or interests. The teaching of specific cooking skills had not helped her become more self-determined; she already possessed many of these skills. Rather, these lessons, rooted in a technical-rational instructional paradigm, stripped the act of cooking of its complexity, context, and enjoyment. It provided no flexibility for Shana or other students to contribute their previously acquired cooking skills, their cultural backgrounds, or their personal tastes.

Another example that caused me to question whether the teaching of specific skills truly afforded Shana with opportunities to enact authority and agency was the assumption of employment and the teaching of specific employment skills. Shana's stories revealed that her formalized transition services emphasized one goal — that Shana be self-reliant and function independently within society. Gainful employment was thought to be the route to meet this goal. While a reasonable and typical goal for students Shana's age, the goal and process were problematic.

First, the assumption that Shana secure employment to demonstrate self-reliance and productivity stripped her of other viable options. Typically, students graduating from high school have the opportunity to explore many options including, post-secondary education, self-directed employment, and, for some, just plain messing around. While students who have just received their high school diploma spend time exploring these options, Shana was never afforded the opportunity. She was expected to secure employment immediately, if not sooner.

Second, Shana was restricted in her choice of employment. She had been "assigned" to work at the local pizza restaurant. She recalled, "They [the teachers] told me I would go to work at Pizza Hut as soon as I completed doing my interview skills." Thus, once Shana had learned to respond to a number of interview questions, she went to work at Pizza Hut. Paradoxically, there seemed to be no genuine purpose to completing the course work that entailed learning how to memorize appropriate responses to questions. Shana was never required to participate in an interview to secure her employment.

While Shana enjoyed her work at Pizza Hut, she expressed on numerous occasions a desire to advance in her position. She wished to assemble pizzas, but she was routinely denied the promotion. Unfortunately, because Shana's experiences in the classroom had so heavily focused on teaching her how to memorize appropriate responses and follow directives, she had not learned how to advocate for herself. Thus, she did not know how to convince her superiors that she could successfully advance to making pizza. In addition, one could argue that while Shana certainly enjoyed her job, it was likely that there were other avenues of employment that she might have enjoyed or were more suited to her interests. However, she was never supported in exploring other employment options.

Third, and returning to Shana's preparation for employment, Shana received instruction devoid of any meaningful context or relevancy. The curriculum was technological and resembled "skill and drill" approaches to learning wherein Shana was expected to comply with "memorize and repeat after me" directives. For instance, she recalled memorizing and practicing specific social interactions, such as how to respond when given a direction to follow. As she noted with a hint of sarcasm, "Out of all the answers and responses I memorized, I don't think I ever used an answer that I had actually practiced."

In summary, Shana was not challenged or encouraged to pursue her own interests. Because of the pre-determined and one-dimensional nature of her educational experiences, she had not been given opportunities to explore her own interests. Rather, she had been tracked into a particular job that, after coming to know Shana, did not entirely suit her interests or personal strengths. While the intent behind this curricular and instructional approach was to teach Shana the skills to be self-determined, the narrow scope of the curriculum afforded few opportunities for decision making and fewer opportunities to make an informed choice. Moreover, Shana was not supported or encouraged to think for herself. She had not received any instruction or support in higher-level thinking skills, such as advocacy or problem-solving. In short, the instruction that she received undermined self-determination as a democratic outcome because of its reliance on teacher-directed instruction and curriculum. As many scholars have argued with regard to reductionist methods of instruction (see Gallagher et. al., 2004), Shana was taught how to comply.

Self-determination as a mechanism of normalization

This research recognized Shana's identities of African American, woman, disabled, and economically disadvantaged as socially constructed (Berger & Luckman, 1966). This research also acknowledged that the assignment to one or more of these socially constructed categories brings about social, political, and legal consequences. As American history illustrates, members of these minority groups have been and continue to be perceived as inferior within our society (Zinn, 2003). For Shana, these socially constructed identities and the accompanying assumptions about her worth complicated and influenced her agency. As a result, her ability to enact and be recognized as a self-determined individual was also compromised.

As I described above, the skills Shana was taught within the technical-rational paradigm of special education emphasized conformity. They were not representative of self-determination rooted in the principles of freedom, authority, autonomy, and responsibility (Nerney & Shumway, 1996). Rather, self-determination resembled a process of normalization (Foucault, 1977, 1980). Foucault (1977, 1980) defined normalization as the regulation of human beings and populations according to practices that divide and group them in relation to certain norms, including the identities they assume or are furnished with in relation to such norms.

Shana's educational experiences resembled a process of normalization. These experiences aimed to "fix" or "help" her to live and work "normally," as defined by her teachers, support staff, and family. For Shana, these experiences were confusing since how "normal" was defined appeared contradictory.

On one hand, "normal" was perceived as living within stereotypical boundaries surrounding Shana's race, gender, class, and disability. For instance, teachers and family members assumed that Shana would not and should not date. While the school held a prom for students, it was a rule that students were only allowed to bring family members. When I probed Shana about this seemingly strange rule, she grinned. She certainly had an interest in dating; however, her grandmother, who frequently joined our conversations, quickly explained, "It [the prom] was just for fun, you know. It's not like handicaps [sic] have boyfriends or get married or anything." Interviews later, I chose to follow-up with this odd conversation when her grandmother was not present. At this time, Shana shared that she had had a crush on one of the boys attending the school, but talking with boys "in that kind of way" would "get you trouble." Her description of the school as largely segregated by gender confirmed what I suspected. It was assumed that individuals with disabilities were asexual (see Fitzmaurice, 2002; Stinson, Christian, Dotson, 2002). Thus, it was "normal" that Shana would have no interest in dating or intimacy, in fact, it was expected.

On the other hand, "normal" was perceived in relation to the dominant norms of the larger society. For example, the primary goal of physical therapy was to increase Shana's mobility in order that she might walk. Thus, Shana was forced to comply with regimented and often painful physical therapy sessions aimed to help her achieve typical mobility. Shana, however, was dissatisfied with the painful and regimented physical therapy. She was far more efficient and comfortable crawling; yet, crawling was viewed as socially unacceptable. The goal was that Shana would achieve "normal" mobility.

The various perceptions of what were perceived to be "normal" by Shana's teachers, staff, and family complicated her ability to exert agency. While these individuals believed they were advocates for Shana, their actions were rooted in stereotypical assumptions surrounding one or more of Shana's labeled discourses. For example, Shana's grandmother continually demeaned Shana's ability to read or write. Succumbing to the notion that "someone as disabled as Shana couldn't possibly be smart," she repeatedly stated, "She can't really read you know. We just let her think she can. No harm in that." In fact, the harm that resulted was lower expectations for Shana; expectations that resembled what were perceived to be "normal" expectations for someone "like Shana."

Drawing from Foucault's (1977) influential work, Discipline and Punish, I suggest that Shana's residential school mirrored that of a carceral. Foucault described a carceral as a structure defined to enforce "normalcy." To do this, the carceral employs the disciplinary powers of observation, judgment, and examination to target and rehabilitate those perceived as "abnormal." Disciplinary powers serve to regulate and enforce normality through imposing micro-penalties of time, activities, behavior, the body, and sexuality (Sullivan, 2005). Embedded within Shana's experiences were these disciplinary powers.

For instance, the support staff at the residential setting mandated that Shana would wash her hair each evening. Lacking sensitivity and knowledge about Shana's culture, staff adhered to the belief that washing one's hair each night was "normal." They enforced this rule through the regimented bathing schedule. Shana was closely watched by the support staff whose job was to see that she comply with washing her hair. When she refused to comply, she was punished with detention and loss of privileges. Moreover, judgment was passed on Shana, as her resistance was perceived to reflect poor hygiene and lack of character.

With the well-meaning intentions of teaching Shana self-help skills in an effort to enhance her self-determination, staff had, ironically, ignored Shana when she exerted self-determination. In the above example, the inability for Shana to enact self-determination was not a result of her race, disability, gender or — for that matter, a lack of desire to be self-determined. Rather an emphasis on "fixing" Shana or making her more "normal," coupled with the underlying stereotypes and assumptions surrounding her gender, race, and disability, created a context that restricted her ability to exert self-determination and be respected as a self-determined human being. In this way, self-determination served as a mechanism intent on normalizing individuals in such a way that they exercised freedom in a responsible and disciplined manner that adhered to the identified norms within a society. Thus, self-determination was a guise intended to teach specific skills to succumb to a specific value system — that of the dominant, larger society.

The antithesis of self-determination: Reproduction

Self-determination, as it was enacted or failed to be enacted within this educational setting, became the antithesis of the movements' original intent. With an implicit emphasis on "normalizing" Shana, self-determination, as solely a set of pre-determined skills to be mastered, did not resemble a "philosophy grounded in democratic values and constitutional principles of autonomy and liberty (Turnball & Turnball, 2006, p.1). Instead, Shana's educational experiences resulted in reproducing her oppressive circumstances. Here, I draw upon theories of reproduction and the work of Willis (1977) and Giroux (1983a, 1983b) to describe how Shana's experiences inadvertently resulted in reproducing her oppressive circumstances.

Theories of reproduction explore how schools promote inequality in the name of fairness and objectivity (Bourdieu & Passeron, 1977). They have revealed the ideological assumptions and processes behind the rhetoric of neutrality and social mobility within schools (see Althusser, 1971; Bourdieu & Passeron, 1977; Bowles & Gintis, 1976). As theories of reproduction related to Shana's experiences, this research study found that the teaching of specific skills in an effort to promote self-determination was an example of a school process that reproduced inequality.

Shana received instruction that stressed a small set of isolated skills relating to job skills, hygiene, and daily living. This approach to instruction prepared her to assume a position in the low-wage sector, wherein Shana continued to live and work in poverty. While many individuals, including her teachers, viewed Shana's gainful employment as evident of success, Shana longed for a greater degree of success. As she stated, "I love to work at Pizza Hut, but I wish they [the employer] would let me do more. I really want to work more hours. . . .I'd also like to work on the line, so that I can make more money." Unfortunately, Shana had been repeatedly denied the chance to move up in her position.

Shana's desire to work more, to secure more responsibility and a higher salary provided evidence of self-determination. These desires also provided evidence of Shana's strong work ethic and assertiveness. As her grandmother noted on many occasions, Shana was "unwilling to give up." As I contemplated Shana's educational experiences, I kept returning to her descriptions and stories that illustrated this unwillingness. Recall her displeasure with physical therapy and a desire to choose when she would wash her hair. I realized that to describe Shana as someone who merely succumbed to her circumstances, as reproduction theorists argued (see Althusser, 1971; Bourdieu & Passeron, 1977; Bowles & Gintis, 1976), would be inaccurate. In fact, to suggest Shana's educational experiences had only reproduced her oppression would, once again, deny Shana's obvious desire to assert self-determination.

Employing the work of Giroux (1983a, 1983b), I offer an alternative interpretation of Shana's educational experiences. Giroux argued that reproduction theories inadvertently continued to support the dominant ideology by ignoring how individuals within oppressed groups resist and counter dominant ideology. Thus, Giroux put forth a theory of resistance. He defined a theory of resistance as an analysis of how individuals respond or react to the dominant ideology. A theory of resistance seeks to identify lived experiences that possess a critique of or challenge to the dominant ideology (Giroux 1983a, 1983b).

Inherent within a theory of resistance is the assumption that human agency and social structures are dialectical (Giroux, 1983a, 1983b). An individual's life chances and lived experiences are not solely determined by one or the other. Through an ongoing process of mediation wherein power is understood as multi-dimensional, individuals meaningfully engage in their world. Individuals are not merely recipients, conforming to the dominant ideology; rather, they exert human agency that, in turn, shapes their daily activities and lives. Giroux (1983a) summarized, "Resistance theory assigns an active role to human agency and experience as key mediating links between structural determinants and lived effects" (p. 285).

In her desire to advocate for herself, Shana often demonstrated such resistance. For instance, she often countered the oppressive nature of physical therapy by refusing to participate or arriving late. She "talked back" to teachers when she disagreed or felt what they were asking of her was "stupid." In short, Shana challenged the dominant ideology.

Unfortunately, this resistance was not acknowledged as self-determination. Rather, her resistance was perceived as child-like or deviant, perpetuating many of the underlying stereotypes surrounding her race, gender, class, and disability. Inadvertently, her actions appeared to legitimize the need for a technical-rational approach to self-determination (e.g. she needed more skill instruction in following directives). As she recalled, when she "acted-up" the result was often more discipline, more restrictions, and more directions to follow.

Shana's experiences are similar to a group of young men described by Willis (1977) in his influential work, Learning to Labour. In this ethnography, Willis described the educational experiences of a group of young men who subvert the dominant school culture by creating a culture of resistance. Arguably his most significant finding, Willis drew attention to the ways in which these adolescents became complicit in their own oppression, generating a culture of resistance that paralleled their future work.

Like the young men in Willis's (1977) work, Shana was dissatisfied with the oppressive nature of her educational experiences. In an effort to counter her oppressive circumstances, she resisted. Unfortunately, like the young men, this resistance had the effect of preparing Shana for the pre-determined workplace that awaited her graduation from high school. Each time that Shana was penalized for her resistance, she implicitly received instruction in how to comply. This hidden curriculum prepared her to graduate from high school and accept employment in the low-wage sector where she would continue to receive limited opportunities to exert individual agency or be recognized and respected as a self-determined human being. In fact, the reliance on reductionist methods of instruction had resulted in denying Shana instruction and support in self advocacy, higher level thinking, and problem solving skills. Taken together, Shana's circumstances resembled the young men in that she, too, inadvertently had a hand in reproducing her oppressive circumstances.

Implications

Shana's experiences suggest an alternative instructional paradigm is necessary if self-determination as a democratic ideal is to be realized. An alternative to the traditional model of providing special education services to students is that of a learner-centered approach (Kohn, 1999). In a learner-centered classroom, instruction and learning begins with teachers who are aware of students' interests, skills, motivations, and needs (Gallagher, 2004; Kohn, 1999). For Shana, this would have meant a teacher who acknowledged and took her desire to date or cook seriously. This would have meant a teacher who appreciated and honored Shana's cultural background and her decision to not wash her hair each evening. This would have meant a teacher who recognized Shana's numerous strengths and assisted Shana in capitalizing on those strengths.

Within a learner-centered classroom, a teacher resembles that of a facilitator or guide. From this teacher-facilitator position, the teacher instructs students through exploring pertinent problems or questions. Fully aware of students' interests and needs, the teacher-facilitator guides students' exploration of the problem by asking pertinent questions, encouraging hands-on exploration, and collaboration with peers. In contrast to simply telling a student how to do something or requiring a student memorize an answer, a teacher-facilitator creates the educational context for students to explore and construct their own knowledge. This context is meaningful and relevant, requiring students to learn and make connections within the broader community and world.

How might a learner-centered classroom support self-determination as both a curriculum and a philosophy rooted in democratic values? How might a learner-centered classroom teach skills important to living and working while also empowering students to advocate and make choices for themselves? What might such a class have looked like for Shana?

First, Shana's needs and interests would have served as the impetus for designing and developing instruction and learning contexts. In fact, as Brewer (2002) asserted, students should be afforded opportunities to play an integral role in developing relevant and meaningful curricular content. As Shana's experiences revealed, the "life skills" curriculum that students with disabilities received often resembles a one-size-fits-all approach that fails to recognize individual student differences, interests, or needs. If Shana would have been afforded a voice in the development of curriculum, perhaps, her physical therapist would have found a way to incorporate swimming (Shana's favorite extra-curricular) into her therapy. Her teachers might have also capitalized on her cooking abilities to provide a broader breadth of experiences that may have led to additional education or employment in the culinary field.

Second, the teacher-facilitator would have abandoned much of the "skill and drill" type of instruction in favor of authentic and genuine learning activities. For instance, students might have been supported in seeking out employment positions of interest and assisted in learning the skills necessary to apply for employment, communicate effectively, and work collaboratively. This support might have been in the form of honoring students' interests and providing job shadowing or coaching. In this hypothetical scenario, students might have had an opportunity to explore several employment options before deciding on one job. Within this scenario, it is likely that students would also make mistakes, and from those mistakes, useful and meaningful learning would occur (Gallagher, 2004; Kohn, 1999).

This learner-centered approach would have proved especially helpful for Shana. As her post-graduation experiences revealed, Shana had difficulty advocating for herself, communicating her strengths to her employer, and felt generally dissatisfied being "stuck folding pizza boxes." Unfortunately, Shana had not acquired the skills necessary to problem solve or initiate action that would bring about change.

Learner-centered classrooms that welcome and support students as co-creators of the learning experience embrace what Freire (2003) describes as education as the practice of freedom. This type of education, Freire argues, empowers individuals who have been previously oppressed by educational practices that suppress one's identity, desires, and histories. In Shana's case, the technical-rational framework that plagued her special education services limited Shana's choices and inadequately prepared her to exert autonomy, responsibility, and authority over her life. In contrast to the technical-rational framework, a learner-centered paradigm supports educators' efforts in bridging the disjuncture between merely teaching skills necessary for self-determination and supporting the underlying democratic intent of self-determination.

This research also points to a number of implications for future research. First, it is necessary to continue to draw attention to the quandaries, pitfalls, and problems associated with self-determination in educational settings. As this study revealed, a great schism existed between self-determination as a democratic ethos and the reality that ensued when attempting to support self-determination. In seeking to further understand the ways in which self-determination becomes a mechanism of normalization, additional studies are needed that approach the concept of self-determination from a critical perspective.

Second, this study highlighted the need to continue to explore the link between curriculum, pedagogy, and self-determination. If our goal as educators remains one of supporting and assisting students' in self-determination, we must continue to examine how our instruction may enhance or subvert the spirit of self-determination. In examining our instruction, we must also continue to examine our personal belief systems in order that we remain open "to hear and act on things that may not be what well-intentioned individuals [educators] have imagined" (Medlen, 2007, p.22). Even well-intentioned individuals may inadvertently discover themselves to be upholding oppressive practices in the name of self-determination.

Last, an examination of how the law and legislation may subvert efforts to support self-determination from a democratic orientation is necessary. As Shana's story illustrates, how the law is interpreted and enacted does not always guarantee self-determination rooted in personal autonomy, respect, and liberty. Thus, more detailed analysis and critique of the role of law is needed to better clarify the concept in order that all individuals may exert and be respected as self-determined individuals.

Conclusion

Shana's experiences revealed how self-determination failed to live up to the movement's intent when enacted via a technical-rational framework. Her experiences draw attention to how self-determination, as solely a set of skills to be taught and mastered, undermined self-determination as a philosophy rooted in democratic values. Coupled with the multiple stereotypes and assumptions surrounding her race, gender and disability, this research revealed how self-determination inadvertently became a mechanism for normalization, functioning to reproduce social hierarchies.

Below I summarized Shana's experiences and her efforts to be recognized as a self-determined individual through poetry. Initially, I constructed this poem as one method of analyzing the data and in an effort to move beyond a surface-level understanding of Shana's experiences. In writing this poem, I attempted to recreate events employing the dialectic, words, and phrases that Shana had used throughout our interviews. I share this poem as a way to articulate how Shana challenged the many underlying assumptions surrounding her race, gender and disability in an effort to exert personal agency and self-determination. The poem also draws attention to the ways in which teachers, service providers, and family often failed to recognize and listen to Shana's desire to exert authority and responsibility over her life.

The poem implores us to continue to question our roles and responsibilities as educators and support personnel. Not only must we teach students the skills necessary to live self-determined lives, but we must also ground our professional practice in pedagogy that aligns with the underlying spirit of self-determination as a democratic process and outcome.