Inclusive education, or inclusion, continues to be the ‘elephant in the classroom’ in New Brunswick schools. While the principle of inclusion has been around since 1986, the N.B. model of the ‘all-inclusive classroom’ is of more recent origin. Policy 322, reaffirmed in 2013, is unique to the province and requires that students with disabilities and complex needs are to be educated in local schools in regular classes with children of their own age.
Containing the Elephant
None of Canada’s other provinces have adopted that model and the reasons are becoming clearer, year after year. Challenging or even questioning the ‘all-inclusive classroom’ model used to be taboo, but that’s slowly breaking down. It erupted, in early November during the Public Consultations on “Improving Anglophone Education” in Moncton, Fredericton and online when parents and educators seized one of the rare opportunities to register their serious concerns.
Child and Youth Advocate Kelly Lamrock’s September 2025 report, Wake Up Call, may have helped by giving credence to claims that the inclusion system was failing not only disabled children but the vast majority of kids trying to learn beside them.
Over ten years, Lamrock pointed out that the proportion of children who can read has fallen from “the vast majority” to “barely half.” Inclusive classrooms are now so difficult to manage that the province routinely excludes record numbers of students to keep “all-inclusive” classrooms intact.
His figures show that one in every 200 students is now absent because “the school cannot or will not educate them.” New schools are even being built with “seclusion rooms in the design plan.” The number of students who fail to graduate, he added, “has increased tenfold.”
Unmanageable Kids and Unsafe Classrooms
Serious gaps in the inclusive net were revealed, most dramatically, in a recent 2024-25 labour arbitration case demonstrating a worst-case scenario. Some students, it is increasingly clear, cannot be properly and safely integrated into regular classrooms.
In the case of one middle school boy with multiple special needs enrolled in Anglophone South District, multiple numbers of teachers and support staff between 2019 and 2021 claimed to have incurred “repeated physical, mental and emotional injuries.” Some 100 violent incidents were reported on PowerSchool, including some 95 which were serious acts of misbehaviour. The arbitrator’s ruling, which is being appealed by the province, found that “students are entitled to an education” in a school “without sacrificing the health and safety of staff.”
The Consultation Charade
The Anglophone sector consultation process itself, facilitated by consultants Maurice Robichaud and Natalie Dubois, steered participants away from these fundamental problems. Discussion was channeled into seven pre-set questions, only one of which even touched on “foundational skills” and how to prevent learning gaps from compounding over time.
No one was asked directly whether the “all-inclusive classroom model” is failing New Brunswick students by forcing teachers to cope with impossible ranges of student competencies. Yet parents and educators—frustrated, informed, and increasingly emboldened—spoke up anyway.
“Inclusion is the elephant in the room,” declared one Moncton parent and teacher, breaking the ice during the province-wide Zoom session. “Teacher retention is tied to the challenges in the classroom. There’s a lack of training for managing behaviours and disruptions. It’s systemic—and we aren’t equipped.”
Retired UNB education professor Ken Brien chimed in to support those comments: “Policy 322 on Inclusive Education needs reform, particularly its emphasis on the common learning environment. The real focus should be on learning effectiveness—teachers must be able to teach more homogeneous groups.”
“Classroom composition” has become the polite euphemism for “all-inclusive classrooms”—and the hottest issue of all. Simply mentioning it tapped into the undercurrent in Moncton. Calls to scrap the current inclusion model drew scattered applause; one comment— “Too many gaps exist in our regular classrooms”—won the loudest spontaneous applause of the night.
Excluding Kids to Preserve Inclusion
Hundreds of students are now on “partial-day plans,” effectively excluded from daily schooling because the system cannot meet their needs. One of the most outspoken parents, Chantelle Hyde, joined the final November 6 Zoom session. Her daughter Lily, an autistic 11-year-old in 2019, was locked in an isolation room at her Grand Falls elementary school—a story later featured on CTV W5’s exposé Restrained.
Six years later, and now living outside the province, Hyde still fights for those left behind. She told participants that provincial policy remains “arbitrary and inflexible,” with guidelines that “find fault” in children and families rather than in the system. “Everyone is wasting time putting out fires,” she wrote on the chat stream. Real progress, she argued, demands “a system-wide mindset shift.” Even teachers pushing for reform, she added, “face major resistance from co-workers and administrators.”
Is the Message Getting Through?
The rising chorus of concern over classroom composition—and, by extension, the inclusive classroom model—is starting to penetrate the protective armour surrounding the Minister and her department. Simply reaffirming Policy 322 with a “Moving Forward” tilt is no longer tenable. Properly integrating recent arrivals of diverse cultures and languages and trans-gender kids has only added to the complexities.
Lamrock, a staunch defender of the right of severely challenged children to attend school, now sees the province’s literacy collapse as a by-product and unintended consequence of inclusion. Declining literacy rates, he argues, are the bitter harvest of a system that fails everyone, especially children with complex needs and those deprived of intensive, properly resourced instruction.
The N.B. inclusion model is in shambles and, when combined with social promotion and eroded standards, its legacy is most visible in middle and high school classrooms that are unmanageable—and, too often, unteachable.
The system still has a way of silencing those speaking out-of-school. While educators and parents now feel emboldened to question the sacred tenets of N,B.-style inclusion, they still fear it will have repercussions. When the regime finally gives way, reform advocates who spoke out during the 2025 Anglophone Education consultations will be remembered for testing the waters, a shaky first step toward letting the elephant loose in the New Brunswick schoolhouse.
Why is Inclusion an ‘Elephant in the Classroom’ in New Brunswick? What’s so unique about New Brunswick’s model of inclusionism? How is it sustained in the face of such challenges? Why was Child Advocate Kelly Lamrock’s Wake-Up Call such an effective alarm bell? Is the N.B. model of the “all-inclusive classroom” sustainable?



























