Jeanne Oberti speeds the family鈥檚 white minivan past a Gloucester Township yellow school bus, navigating the twisting two-lane road to turn at the stand selling Jersey tomatoes. Eventually, she pulls up in front of the stucco building with three white crosses rising from the manicured grass and unloads her four children.
Rafael, her oldest, heaves his backpack over his shoulder and walks down the hall to Arlene Burnett鈥檚 4th-grade class鈥攐ne in a flurry of maroon V-neck sweaters and dark pants. This Monday morning, Rafael traces his name in cursive, then slowly prints the numbers and letters that tell where he lives. An aide in his classroom at Ambassador Christian Academy reminds him to cross his t鈥檚 and dot his i鈥檚.
It鈥檚 a pretty good morning for 11-year-old Rafael. When he started 1st grade here in 1992, he spent the first two weeks sitting in a chair, jacket on, clutching his backpack. The staff let him sit until he was ready.
What鈥檚 perhaps most surprising about Rafael鈥檚 morning is that he鈥檚 at this school at all. Things weren鈥檛 supposed to turn out this way.
Five years ago, Jeanne and Carlos Oberti filed suit against their school district in Clementon. They asked a state administrative-law judge to order the district to educate Rafael, who has Down syndrome, in a regular classroom in their neighborhood school rather than in a special-education class. The judge ruled against the Obertis, but then鈥攖o the astonishment of many鈥攁 U.S. District Court took their side. A year later, the U.S. Court of Appeals for the 3rd Circuit concurred.
鈥淚nclusion is a right, not a privilege for a select few,鈥� the district court judge wrote in 1992. Those words鈥攑erhaps the strongest ever penned by a judge on behalf of educating disabled children in regular environments鈥攖hrew a national spotlight on Clementon and the Obertis. Television camera crews began descending on the small town and its 500-student elementary school district, and inclusion advocates nationwide adopted the judge鈥檚 phrase in advancing their cause.
Throughout the legal battle, the district argued that Rafael was too severely disabled and too disruptive to educate in the regular classroom. The Obertis said the district never provided their son with the services and support he needed. Rafael鈥檚 classroom behavior鈥攚hich they maintained Clementon grossly exaggerated鈥攔esulted from deficiencies in the educational program, they contended. The courts ultimately agreed.
While both federal courts ordered the school to go back and develop a more inclusive plan for Rafael, neither told Clementon exactly what that meant. By the time the two parties sat down to talk it over, the Obertis decided there were too many hard feelings to negotiate and opted to keep Rafael at the Christian school.
The Obertis鈥� story鈥攖hen and now鈥攑lays out against the backdrop of a nation grappling with increasingly blurred lines between 鈥渞egular鈥� and 鈥渟pecial鈥� education and an even blurrier debate over who has responsibility for each. It has unfolded as the disability-rights movement has gained steam and ideas about what children and adults with disabilities can, or should do, have been evolving.
It wades into the prickly and emotional issues of expectations, balance, and control. Whose expectations should govern what happens in a child鈥檚 education? Where is the balance struck between the rights of one and of the many? Who defines what is best for a child?
Two 鈥淔or Sale鈥� signs poke out of the front lawn of the Oberti鈥檚 two-story home, which sits on one of the biggest lots on the block. A wooden fence encircles the back yard, which, over the nine years the family has lived here, Carlos Oberti has filled with a mini-basketball court, an above-ground swimming pool, and a car park.
Since the Obertis decided to send their children鈥擱afael; Christopher, 9; Stephanie, 7; and Gabrielle, 6鈥攖o the Ambassador school a half-hour away in Glassboro, they have largely retreated from life in Clementon. Not that they ever felt too comfortable here to begin with.
鈥淲e live in Clementon, but we鈥檙e not of Clementon,鈥� explains Jeanne, who is finishing her college degree in music education. Carlos, a native of Ecuador, markets licorice extract abroad for a company in nearby Camden. He calls Clementon, a working-class community of 5,600 residents, 鈥渁 small, nothing town.鈥�
The Obertis plan to move to Glassboro to be closer to their children鈥檚 school. There isn鈥檛 much keeping them here anymore. The children used to play sports鈥擱afael joined a T-ball league鈥攂ut when the family received a flier suggesting he join a league just for children with disabilities, they decided to drop out altogether. Besides, Carlos says, family is where everything starts and finishes.
On a Sunday afternoon after church, Rafael lies on the bed next to his father, his arms tucked beneath his head on the pillow, just like Carlos. His brothers and sisters are sprawled around them watching football on TV. Rafael loves sports鈥攂asketball, soccer, hockey鈥攁nd sings in his church鈥檚 junior choir. He doesn鈥檛 like math. He used to have his own room, but since Carlos鈥� parents moved in from Ecuador, he鈥檚 had to share his room with Christopher. They take turns sleeping on the top bunk.
Rafael is responsible for, among other things, dressing himself, making his bed, helping to set and clear the table, and checking little Gabrielle鈥檚 math homework with a calculator after doing his own.
But all the children are expected to look out for each other, particularly for Rafael. Which is why the Obertis are willing to pay roughly $8,000 a year for the four to attend the same school.
When Rafael eats his bagel and cream cheese for breakfast and it smears on his face, Christopher corrects him: 鈥淩afael, wipe your mouth off. And eat right. Don鈥檛 tear off the food. Do it like this,鈥� as he bites gingerly into his bagel. Stephanie laces Rafael鈥檚 hiking boots before a trip to the corner convenience store. On the way back, when Christopher races Stephanie home, Rafael takes off behind them. When he starts to walk in the street, Stephanie tells him to move. He does. When the children come in from playing a game of touch football, Carlos asks Christopher if Rafael had his jacket on. He doesn鈥檛 know. Carlos admonishes: 鈥淚t鈥檚 your job to know. He鈥檚 your brother.鈥�
Carlos calls the children in from their game. He doesn鈥檛 like them playing with the neighborhood kids too much. Too many of their families don鈥檛 have 鈥済ood values,鈥� he says. And, Rafael has been teased. So, until they move, much of the children鈥檚 free time is spent inside the house, or behind the wooden fence in the back yard, or after being transported somewhere else in the white minivan.
Jeanne describes her husband as tenacious. During a phone call to Rafael鈥檚 doctor, he refuses to take no for an answer: Find an appointment because Rafael needs to be seen right away. He gets one. His standards are high. Before the children leave for school, he has their school sweaters dabbed with tape, smooths their hair, and wipes their hands and faces until they glow. When Rafael鈥檚 bottom lip falls slightly from time to time, Carlos taps his son鈥檚 face lightly, and he clamps his jaw shut. When Rafael sings in choir, Carlos cues him from the pew, signaling to sing louder or pay attention to the director. He softly touches Rafael鈥檚 hands when they rest on the pew before him, a signal to clasp them together in prayer.
Although Rafael is not at Clementon Elementary, the Obertis say things have worked out for the best. In the end, they won, they say, for families following in their footsteps.
鈥淲e did feel we were supporting 鈥榯he cause,鈥濃�� Jeanne says. 鈥淭here was some peer pressure from other parents of kids with disabilities to put Rafael back in Clementon. We wanted to finish what we鈥檇 started, but we came up against the realization that we had to put our child first. It鈥檚 a compromise. We鈥檙e not heroes.鈥�
Flipping through one of the family鈥檚 many photo albums鈥攕andwiched between shots of the children at the beach and Rafael reclining on a chaise lounge on a business trip to Latin America with his father鈥攊s one that takes up almost a page by itself. It shows the four smiling children in front of a large hand-lettered sign hanging from their front porch: 鈥淯.S. 3rd Circuit Court. Rafael Oberti vs. Clementon Elementary. We won ... AGAIN.鈥�
The Obertis are self-described idealists, risk-takers. And they have learned to be wary from the time Rafael was born, when they were told they should put him up for adoption and try again. Jeanne recalls that, years ago, a speech therapist wanted Rafael to learn to use a speech board, a mechanism that allows nonverbal children to communicate by pressing letter keys.
鈥淚 said, 鈥榃ait a minute. You鈥檙e supposed to work on articulation, not say my child won鈥檛 ever speak,鈥濃�� she says. 鈥淚t really put us on our toes. Low expectations are a very, very dangerous thing.鈥�
They were also told Rafael probably would never read, which he does now, albeit at the kindergarten or 1st-grade level, his teacher says.
They tell the bicycle story. Rafael had training wheels on his. They took Christopher鈥檚 off, and he rode away. They didn鈥檛 take Rafael鈥檚 off. Months later, Rafael picked up his brother鈥檚 bike and took off. 鈥淚 was worried for nothing, that he wouldn鈥檛 do it,鈥� Carlos says. 鈥淭hen I realized, of course he鈥檒l do it, just a little more slowly.鈥�
None of this has been easy. When Rafael was born, Carlos struggled for three months to accept his son鈥檚 condition.
鈥淚 couldn鈥檛 deal with it at all, but I finally accepted it. And I made a promise to myself,鈥� he says, pounding his fist into the palm of his other hand. 鈥淚 promised to help Rafael succeed at anything he decided to do.鈥�
On a blustery Sunday afternoon, the muted shouts of children playing touch football on sleepy California Street waft inside the Obertis鈥� home.
Carlos sits on the carpeted floor playing 鈥淐onnect Four鈥� in the front hall with Rafael and the other kids, hemmed in by wooden bookshelves holding neatly stacked toys and books. Christopher is playing against Rafael.
Christopher: 鈥淪omebody help Rafael.鈥�
Carlos: 鈥淗e doesn鈥檛 need help.鈥� Rafael loses after a few turns.
Christopher: 鈥淚 told you he needs help.鈥�
In a rematch, Carlos urges Rafael on in a voice that lilts with the Spanish accent of his native Ecuador. 鈥淵ou have to think before you put your piece in.鈥� Rafael hesitates, then places his red piece. 鈥淒on鈥檛 let him get four, Rafael.鈥�
Carlos stops the game and focuses his dark eyes on Rafael, his arm draped around his son鈥檚 back. 鈥淭hink, Rafael. Where are there three pieces consecutively?鈥� Rafael makes his move, blocking his brother鈥檚 strategy. But he winds up losing the game.
Court documents show that in 1989, when Rafael was 5 years old, he had an IQ of about 59 and limited speech skills. As far as New Jersey was concerned, that made him 鈥渆ducable mentally retarded,鈥� or EMR. He had been in special-education programs since infancy. When it came time for him to enroll in kindergarten, the Obertis approached Clementon and asked that he be placed in a regular classroom.
Reading through the court records in the case, you get the feeling that the two sides are speaking in different languages. One side looked at the glass and saw it half-full, the other half-empty.
Today, the Obertis say they knew traditional special education was not going to take their son where they wanted him to go. They had seen other children like Rafael, products of that system, wind up in sheltered workshops or group homes. And they didn鈥檛 want any part of it.
鈥淚 didn鈥檛 know at that point that inclusion was so new to the district,鈥� Jeanne says. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 know the ramifications of what we were proposing. All I knew was that was the atmosphere I wanted my child in.鈥�
The Obertis don鈥檛 put much stock in IQ or other standardized tests; they believe that special educators rely too heavily on such measures to decide where to school children like Rafael. They argue that the federal Individuals with Disabilities Education Act requires the development of individualized-education plans for each disabled student, not the generation of a label like 鈥渕ultiply handicapped,鈥� which educators then use to 鈥渟hip children off to the nearest MH program.鈥�
Rafael was assigned to Melinda Reardon鈥檚 morning developmental kindergarten class, which was designed to help children lacking in skills prepare for standard kindergarten. Reardon and an aide taught Rafael and 11 other students in a classroom divided by a set of bookshelves from a regular kindergarten class. Rafael spent his afternoons in a special-education class in a neighboring district.
Reardon, who had been at the school 14 years, later testified that she was concerned she spent too much time with Rafael and that the other children were taught at a lower level because of him. Rafael would throw pencils and crayons, crawl under desks, spit, scream, and cry, she said. On the playground one day, Reardon said, Rafael choked another student.
Speech therapist Karen Lightman testified that Rafael slapped her and had various outbursts during their sessions. In her opinion, Rafael needed to be in a special-education class where he could receive more extensive speech therapy than Clementon could offer.
鈥淗e had difficulty following directions and expressing his wants and needs, and that was my big concern,鈥� Lightman testified.
To complicate matters, Rafael was not fully toilet trained. On the first day of school, Reardon said she received a note from the Obertis asking her to take him to the bathroom every 15 minutes.
鈥淭he parents [also] requested that I send home a page of every single assignment that I did, so they could reinforce it, which was not a reasonable request,鈥� Reardon said.
She eventually got another aide to work with Rafael, but it didn鈥檛 seem to help much, both Reardon and the Obertis testified.
Peggy McDevit, Clementon鈥檚 special-education coordinator and a school psychologist, testified that she didn鈥檛 oppose including a disabled child in the regular classroom, but she felt that Rafael wasn鈥檛 prepared.
鈥淚 feel strongly that at some point in time it might be a beneficial experience for him, but at this time it would not be,鈥� she testified. McDevit felt Rafael was frustrated in Reardon鈥檚 class, even with the new aide.
鈥淭he frustration came because I think that the expectations of Mr. and Mrs. Oberti were clearly that he would be exposed to everything in the kindergarten program,鈥� McDevit testified. 鈥淭he frustration that I saw in Rafael was in his own, perhaps, perception that he was not able to do many of the things that were going on in the classroom.鈥�
Carlos, clearly agitated, blames the conflict on Clementon鈥檚 鈥渕ediocrity.鈥�
The Obertis say they were thrilled with Rafael鈥檚 progress in the class. For example, he learned to recognize 16 letters of the alphabet.
鈥淥f course, the other kids knew all 26, but I said look at the progress, where the school said, 鈥極h, we failed, so he鈥檚 not in the right place,鈥濃�� Jeanne says. 鈥淭hey kept saying he鈥檚 not ready. In their minds, I don鈥檛 think Rafael would ever be 鈥榬eady.鈥濃��
Based on Rafael鈥檚 year in Reardon鈥檚 class, Clementon proposed that he be schooled in a special-education kindergarten class for the 1990-91 school year. Clementon didn鈥檛 have a program geared toward children with Rafael鈥檚 classification at the time鈥擡MR鈥攕o they wanted to bus him to one in another district. The Obertis rejected that idea because it was a separate classroom, and most students stayed there four years.
In August 1990, the parents and district agreed that Rafael would be sent to a new program for children classified as multiply handicapped just starting up in the Winslow Township school district, 45 minutes away from the Obertis鈥� home. The agreement stipulated that Rafael would be mainstreamed with nondisabled students in some of his Winslow classes, including music. The promised mainstreaming never materialized. Rafael sat in the cafeteria with other students, but he wasn鈥檛 allowed to leave his special-education class table.
Winslow鈥檚 speech therapist later testified that Rafael had progressed from using just a few words at the beginning of the year to using three- and four-word sentences. But the Obertis said Rafael had started wetting his bed again and, for the first time, was saying he didn鈥檛 want to go to school.
The Winslow experience sent the Obertis to Frank Laski, a noted disability-rights lawyer, and his colleague Penelope Boyd of the Public Interest Law Center of Philadelphia. By February, they were facing off against Clementon before a state administrative-law judge in what would prove to be only the first in a long series of court maneuvers. Clementon won.
鈥淭his is not to say that the time may not come when mainstreaming in Winslow Township and/or Clementon will not be called for,鈥� Judge Joseph Lavery wrote on March 8, 1991. 鈥淭he present record only discloses that now is not such a time.鈥� That same day, the Obertis decided to appeal to the federal courts. It was then, Clementon Superintendent Bill Sherman says, that he and the Obertis stopped talking, and the lawyers started.
As the lawyers began to build their cases, the Obertis enrolled Rafael in Clementon鈥檚 summer program, open to all the town鈥檚 students in grades K-6. Karen Albanese taught the 38-student class with two aides.
Rafael crawled under tables, lay in the middle of the classroom and cried, kicked an aide, and poked children with a pencil, Albanese testified. On a trip to the Campbell Soup Museum in Camden, she testified that she had to restrain him and that he refused to stay with the group.
鈥淎t one point, he literally pulled me across the room,鈥� Albanese testified. 鈥淎t that point, he broke away from me and then started to run around that section of the museum. ... And I鈥檓 holding him and trying to describe the tureens to the children. After a point, I couldn鈥檛 hold him anymore.... I was sitting with Rafael in the chair, and he was kicking his legs and flailing his arms. I was trying to hold him and say, 鈥楻afael I need you to calm down now.鈥� 鈥�
After the museum trip, Albanese asked Jeanne Oberti to come on field trips, but Rafael still sometimes tried to run away.
In the fall of 1991, Clementon again recommended the program in Winslow for Rafael. Instead, the Obertis enrolled their son at a Catholic school in Stratford, N.J. Rafael spent roughly two months in Patricia Caponi鈥檚 class of nine learning-disabled students, also attending a few classes with nondisabled students. Caponi testified that when he was frustrated, Rafael hit other students, yelled, and tried to run out of the school.
By October鈥檚 end, the school had asked Rafael to leave. Jeanne Oberti spent the remainder of 1991 home-schooling her son.
By the time the Obertis鈥� lawyers were ready to go to court, they had enough depositions, evaluations, videotapes, and expert testimony to fill four drawers of a file cabinet in the law center鈥檚 office. For three days in May, every detail of Rafael鈥檚 school life was raked through with a fine-toothed comb in a Camden courtroom. The Obertis鈥� lawyers flew in a nationally known inclusion expert from Wisconsin and called to the stand two other special educators from New Jersey and Temple University in Philadelphia. Thomas Murphy, who was the district鈥檚 lawyer, offered up a special-education professor from nearby Glassboro State College. Rafael, almost 8 years old, spent most of his time during the trial coloring in the courtroom鈥檚 front row.
On Aug. 17, 1992, Chief Judge John F. Gerry ruled for the Obertis. The next day, Superintendent Sherman鈥檚 phone started ringing off the hook with reporters and educators from around the country.
鈥淚t all got interpreted as some kind of mandate, pro or con inclusion,鈥� Sherman says today. 鈥淭o me, it was never that. It was one child. It just took on a life of its own.鈥�
He feels that Clementon was singled out 鈥渢o make a point鈥� in part because of its small size and relatively limited resources. (The district has a $2.9 million annual budget.)
鈥淚 knew the judge couldn鈥檛 imagine our little school district of 500 kids. So what are the program options like here?鈥� Sherman says, shaking his head. 鈥淚 know they didn鈥檛 understand that.鈥�
Sherman says the Obertis had 鈥渧ery high expectations鈥� for Rafael and for the changes Clementon should have made to accommodate him. 鈥淚 felt like they were asking for changes that were ahead of the game,鈥� he says. And the advocates do not necessarily disagree.
鈥淎ll of this was really just beginning in New Jersey,鈥� says Joanne McKeown, a mother of a child with Down syndrome and a statewide inclusion advocate who testified for the Obertis in the case. 鈥淚 think Clementon had the bad luck to choose the wrong family鈥� to take on.
On May 28, 1993, the federal appeals court affirmed the lower court鈥檚 ruling. The Oberti case showed up on the 鈥淭oday鈥� show. Rafael was featured in a cover story on inclusion in U.S. News & World Report titled 鈥淪eparate and Unequal.鈥�
Murphy wanted to take the case to the U.S. Supreme Court. Sherman did not. So Murphy resigned. Today, Murphy says Sherman sold out on his principles for 鈥減olitical correctness.鈥� Sherman says he realized the appeals court ruling was a good one and he wanted the case to end.
The summer after the appeals court decision, the Obertis sat down with Clementon officials, but found no common ground. The district wanted to re-evaluate Rafael and offered to have a team outside Clementon do it. But ultimately, the Obertis decided there was too much bad blood between them and Clementon, and Rafael was progressing at the Christian school. So they walked away. They have not returned since.
Ambassador decided to take a chance. Rafael is one of nine students, including his brother, in Arlene Burnett鈥檚 class there. An aide, Jeanie Cook, works primarily with Rafael and another disabled student. Depending on the subject, Rafael sits in the back row of desks with the other students or at a small table pushed against the wall. A few times a week, he receives speech therapy and help in mathematics and reading from the Gloucester County Special School District, which provides itinerant teachers to serve students with disabilities in the county鈥檚 nonpublic schools.
While the other students practice their spelling words for a quiz鈥�"successful,鈥� 鈥渂argain"鈥擱afael works on one of the three functional words his teacher plans for him to learn each quarter. He will spend the next three or four weeks on today鈥檚 word, 鈥渆xit.鈥�
鈥淲hat does that word mean? Show me the exit,鈥� Burnett asks while Cook floats among the other students. Rafael points to the classroom door. 鈥淲hat do we do when we exit? Show me.鈥� Rafael walks out the door, then points, after Burnett asks him, to the exit signs at either end of the hallway. 鈥淲hat do the signs say?鈥� 鈥淪ign.鈥� 鈥淣o. Exit.鈥� 鈥淥h yeah. Exit,鈥� he grins. Rafael returns to the table to trace the word exit and print his own sentence: Exit means to go out. He quietly draws a picture of himself and an exit.
It does not always go so smoothly. During a math lesson, while others stand at the chalkboard to divide 97 by 60 or 74 by 20, Rafael uses a calculator to add two-digit figures. He gets frustrated and lays his head on Cook鈥檚 shoulder. 鈥淚t鈥檚 hard,鈥� he complains. 鈥淐ome on, Rafael, you can do it,鈥� she urges him. He puts his head on the table. Burnett comes over. 鈥淐ome on, Rafael. Easy as cake, right?鈥� Rafael starts to cry. Cook brings over a box of tissues. After Rafael spends a few minutes playing with a tissue, Cook refocuses him on his math. 鈥淓nter 15, ready?鈥� Rafael sees he did the problem correctly. 鈥淎ll right,鈥� he exclaims, making the thumbs-up sign. Rafael is a master of slang.
Some children in Rafael鈥檚 class have been with him since 1st grade. Some are unfazed when he starts to hum in class, or when he plays with his pens and pencils in the air, clearly absorbed in a universe of his own creation. Others are not. For now, his language skills make it difficult to have meaningful conversations with others. But at lunch, the others make room for Rafael when they start to practice a dance step, and Rafael follows, half a beat behind. At recess, in the tree-lined meadow behind the school, he hangs off to the side with a few other boys while the girls commandeer the soccer ball.
Ambassador prides itself on its family environment鈥攖he school has only 78 children in pre-kindergarten through 6th grade鈥攁nd strong parent involvement. While there are other students in the school with various learning problems, Rafael is the most severely disabled student the school has ever had. But Ambassador has not marketed itself as a 鈥渟pecial needs鈥� school.
鈥淭his wasn鈥檛 a crusade or a policy issue for us,鈥� Principal Wellington Watts says. 鈥淚t was just, here鈥檚 a family with a need who came looking for help.鈥�
They accepted Rafael because they knew the Obertis 鈥渨ould bend over backward to make this work,鈥� he says. The family has organized in-service training for Rafael鈥檚 teachers and linked the school with a special-education consultant to develop Rafael鈥檚 curriculum. The school has given teachers release time to attend inclusion conferences, hired an aide, and met as a group with the Obertis at least once a month to discuss Rafael鈥檚 program.
But even here, some parents have expressed concern over Rafael鈥檚 presence. One family pulled their daughter from the school because 鈥渢hey didn鈥檛 feel Rafael had developed the social graces they wanted their child exposed to,鈥� Watts says. Another approached the principal because they were worried their son was not receiving enough attention in class. That worry, Watts says, has since diminished.
Watts has called Rafael鈥檚 father twice. Once, because Rafael refused to cooperate with the teacher. And again a few weeks ago because he put his jacket on and threatened to leave the school. Carlos arrived, spanked Rafael, and the problems were resolved.
Rafael鈥檚 teachers say he has been a challenge, but a rewarding one. They have spent hours drawing up separate lesson plans for him. They have coordinated, and, at times, disagreed with the Obertis.
鈥淪ometimes, I just had to say to them flat out, 鈥楾his isn鈥檛 going to work,鈥濃�� says Sue Sawyer, Rafael鈥檚 2nd-grade teacher. 鈥淭hey started to trust me. So they let me take over.鈥�
The question remains whether Rafael is in the right place.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 know if his skills would be higher if he were in a special-education class. Some would say yes,鈥� says Burnett, who has two children of her own in special-education classes in the public schools.
鈥淧art of me says, are they denying reality?鈥� says Sancha Hughes, a Gloucester County speech therapist who works with Rafael. 鈥淚 know in their hearts they believe this is best for Rafael, but I鈥檓 not sure that it is.鈥�
For Watts, who used to teach in the public schools, the bottom line on inclusion is attitude.
鈥淎nytime something is mandated, people do it because they have to,鈥� he says. 鈥淏ut for inclusion to work, it has to be because you want it. And you can鈥檛 mandate attitude.鈥�
Most people in town have forgotten about the Oberti case, if they ever knew about it at all. On a blustery fall day, parents gathered outside the fire station for a Halloween costume parade. One mother said she had heard about the case and thought the family won. Others thought they heard the family had moved away some time ago.
In any case, inclusion is not on the tip of everyone鈥檚 tongue here. But for Barbara Cremean, a mother of two girls at Clementon Elementary鈥攐ne of whom was in the same classroom as Rafael five years ago鈥攖he memory is still vivid.
鈥淚 just remember thinking, why is he here? He isn鈥檛 ready for this school,鈥� she says. 鈥淎nd Clementon wasn鈥檛 ready for him either.鈥�
Talking with both sides in this case, it is clear that the feelings run deep. The local PTA president, teachers鈥� union representative, and Rafael鈥檚 public school teachers all declined to be interviewed for this story. Some school board members, former and current, also refused.
Is it because they fear future litigation from the Obertis? Because they feel manipulated by the district鈥檚 lawyer? Because they are tired of answering to the press? Or because they just want to move on? Superintendent Sherman says it is the last.
Today, Murphy, the district鈥檚 former lawyer, is out of the school-law business altogether. But he still argues that inclusion converts the regular classroom into a special-education class for all the students.
鈥淚 wouldn鈥檛 want my [nondisabled] child in that class,鈥� he says. 鈥淭his is the guts of the whole issue, and judges don鈥檛 want to hear that. They want to see it as civil rights. Parents don鈥檛 want their children stigmatized, and they don鈥檛 want that stigma for themselves.鈥�
For his part, Superintendent Sherman maintains that he never opposed inclusion. He feels, as he did then, that it is a question of degree and timing for individual students. He does not share some of Murphy鈥檚 concerns.
鈥淢y fear is that some districts have implemented inclusionary programs out of a fear of litigation, and possibly those programs are not best for the child,鈥� Sherman says, smoothing the wrinkled and heavily highlighted copy of the appeals court decision he keeps at his desk. 鈥淧ersonally, I鈥檝e never spent so much time on one student, one situation in my life. I don鈥檛 even know what winning means in this case anymore.鈥�
No irate parents ever showed up at school board meetings to protest the behavior Clementon outlined in its legal case, but Sherman says that four or five parents approached him with concerns about Rafael.
To Stephen Leibrand, who had served on the school board for nearly a decade until last year, the case meant setting limits.
鈥淚 saw this whole thing as maybe setting precedent for going too far,鈥� he says. 鈥淪chool districts are afraid to say no. And we weren鈥檛.鈥�
The bottom line is that in 1989 terms, Sherman says, 鈥渨e felt we were being pioneers鈥� by agreeing to have Rafael in the regular classroom. The district had never before even considered placing a child with Rafael鈥檚 classification there. So where Clementon was patting itself on the back for going so far, the legal advocates saw that the letter of the law entitled Rafael to much more.
It鈥檚 difficult to gauge what practical impact the Oberti case has had on the Clementon schools. Parents haven鈥檛 been lining up to demand that their children be educated in the regular classroom in the wake of it, Sherman says. And looking at special-education placement data from 1989 and 1995, those educated within Clementon鈥檚 walls are still predominantly students with learning disabilities, and those outside have more complex problems.
Though New Jersey ranks 48th in the nation for including disabled children in the regular classroom, there are some changes afoot, sparked in part by the Oberti case. Last spring, the state board of education revamped its rules on inclusion to incorporate the Oberti ruling. And a state task force is looking to rebuild the state鈥檚 school-funding system, which for now gives districts more fiscal incentives to ship students out rather than keep them in regular classes in their neighborhood schools. But politically, advocates say, inclusion remains a hot potato here.
And some are threatened by what they think the Oberti case represents. Parents like Terry Bair fear that special classes and schools will eventually be shut down as pressure mounts to mainstream children with disabilities.
For three years, Bair鈥檚 11-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, who has Down syndrome, has attended Kingsway Learning Center, a private school in Haddonfield, N.J. The local public school district pays her $21,000 tuition. Bair thinks that Elizabeth receives the maximum attention and special instruction at Kingsway and that her daughter would feel overwhelmed in the regular classroom in her neighborhood school. Bair says she does not oppose inclusion, she just wants to make sure parents have choices.
鈥淚 think most teachers are overwhelmed with the children they already have in their classrooms without special-needs children being added,鈥� she says. 鈥淭he bottom line to me is, are they going to be resentful that they are being asked to teach 鈥榯hese kids?鈥欌��
Things weren鈥檛 supposed to turn out this way. Rafael is not at Clementon. But, for now, Rafael is where his parents want him. Legally, if they decided tomorrow to send him back to Clementon, the school would have to devise a plan to serve him. But it won鈥檛 likely come to that.
If the Obertis move to another district, they likely will have another battle on their hands, advocates say.
And Ambassador, for its part, will not grow beyond the 8th grade by the time Rafael reaches it.
鈥淚 don鈥檛 know where the future will be for Rafael. We鈥檝e been constants in his life,鈥� Watts pauses. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 know if there鈥檚 another school that would attempt what we鈥檝e done. It鈥檚 going to be a big bridge to cross ...鈥� his voice trails off.
The Obertis鈥� long-term vision for Rafael is that he be surrounded and supported by a circle of family and friends, not people paid to care for him. That he develop as an individual, like his brothers and sisters, with his own strengths and weaknesses. Maybe he will live on his own, start his own family. Maybe he will live with his brother. They aren鈥檛 sure. And they aren鈥檛 willing to place any limits on him.
鈥淟ife can hold something much bigger than my hopes for him,鈥� Carlos says. 鈥淚 can鈥檛 tell you my son will be a mechanic or an office manager or a librarian. I鈥檓 not going to follow one inch of the paths already set.鈥�
At the Laurel Hill Bible Church, sandwiched between a Sound Rite record store and a strip mall, Rafael runs his hand across his father鈥檚 freshly shaved face, tracing the lines of his jaw and throat. His hand eventually drops onto his father鈥檚 leg. Carlos grasps his son鈥檚 hand and tucks it into his, using the other hand to trace the words in the hymn book from which the congregation sings.
Rafael gently nudges his father鈥檚 hand aside and points to the words himself, his own voice, softly, half a beat behind, joining the others.
