Despite policies promoting inclusive education, thousands of children with disabilities in Qatar remain out of school, their futures shaped by barriers rather than opportunities. This article explores the stark gap between policy and practice, highlighting the challenges families face and the urgent need for collective action. It challenges us to rethink inclusion—not as an abstract ideal, but as a courageous commitment to ensuring every child’s right to learn and thrive.
I remember the day I was told that my daughter was ready to graduate from her early intervention program (EIP)—a curated schedule of developmental goals and therapies—and I should start looking for mainstream schools. Little did I know that what they were asking for was the near-impossible. At first, I naively assumed it was my choice as a parent as to which school I select. It very soon became clear that I was the weaker party in this negotiation.
The list of schools on my notepad kept growing, each one crossed out in bold red for every rejection I received. “We don’t accept special children,” one told me. Another, a prestigious school, simply said, “We do not have the resources.” A few said yes—until they heard the name of my daughter’s syndrome and reversed their decision without any effort to understand what it entailed.
Yet our story has a rare happy ending—after thirty-nine battering rejections, the fortieth time’s the charm. A brand-new school, eager to build up its student body, accepted my daughter’s application—and she has been in that school for nine years, learning and thriving like any other child would. All she needed was a chance.
This episode was an eye-opener for me as a parent and an advocate. I quickly understood that ‘inclusive education’ wasn’t just about the laws and policies and global commitments—those are just the beginning. It was so much to do with everything that came after.
The Complexities of Inclusion
Trying to conceptualize inclusive education in Qatar can be a fairly daunting exercise from the view of policymakers and educators. We start with fundamental questions such as: What does inclusion mean? Inclusive for whom and for how many? How does this differ between different disabilities and different severities within a disability group? And then we dive deeper into practical realities: How do you demarcate between education, rehabilitation, and vocational and/or employment training? Who is responsible for its funding: schools, families, or the state? What programs are required to build specialist capacity? What doors keep children firmly locked out of education?
These are not new questions, yet they remain largely (and dangerously) unanswered in implementation. Research studieshighlight a persistent and gaping gap between policy and practice in Qatar. Schools struggle with teacher training, families face overwhelming financial barriers, and persons with disabilities continue to be marginalized, made invisible in our data, or relegated to the periphery.
Many argue that the biggest barrier to building progressive change is cultural attitude. “It’s the social stigma,” they say. “It’s the cultural tendency to keep disabled children at home. Some do it out of shame. Others out of ignorance.” No one asks whether the stigma is stronger amongst parents or if it is the prejudice of decision-makers. Parent-shaming has been an unfortunate fallback for many actors when questioned about why are there still critical pathways missing for children with disabilities.
Here is where I beg to differ. With at least three decades in the Arab Gulf, I see a different reality that has emerged in recent years. More parents are stepping forward, openly advocating for their children’s right to a life of dignity and purpose. More families are rejecting the notion that disability should mean invisibility. More self-advocates with disabilities are claiming their rights to access. The demand for inclusion has never been louder.
And yet, we are still failing too many children. One child out of school is a child out of school too many. While data remains elusive, internal reports have suggested more than 30,000 children are out of school in Qatar due to their disability[SS1] , while others estimate this to be far too conservative.
As a community actor, the numbers come as no surprise; in my line of work, to come across a child with a disability in school is an exception rather than the norm. However, the numbers—conservative as they may be—only heighten the urgency with which we need to start addressing these questions. To date, the most persistent and emotionally ridden topic that I am approached with is that of schools: Which school will accept my child with Down’s syndrome? Which school will ensure that my child with cerebral palsy is not left in the corner of the classroom? Is my school allowed to expel my autistic child in the middle of the school year for no reason? Why is the cost of my child’s schooling far more than my rent?
I have my own question to add to the fray: What steps can we take to ensure that the estimated 10 percent of the childrenin our country are welcome in an environment that helps them develop both academically and holistically?
In response to my own query, I would like to say it starts with a great deal of courage.
Why Inclusion Starts with Courage
Inclusion does not fail due to a lack of policies—it fails due to a lack of courage.
It takes great courage to collect and publish real-time data on out-of-school children, even if it means exposing the sheer scale of the issue. It takes courage to engage with a truly representative range of stakeholders and—albeit uncomfortably—listen to all the ways that the system needs to develop. It takes courage to—beyond highlighting only the incremental achievements—acknowledge that we are yet far from the ideal. For a country like Qatar, a small state with an ambitious vision, collaborating with various stakeholders is highly achievable in order to take these first steps and then jointly co-creating pathways and systems for a community that is immeasurably diverse but just as deserving of equitable access to education.
Inclusion, like any meaningful change, requires the courage to persist—to take imperfect steps, to stumble, to recalibrate, and to press ahead even after several regressions.
I am immensely proud of so many parents who continue to battle every day to find a space for their child—but they should not have to face thirty-nine rejections in order to find the fortieth school. It gives me hope when meeting an educator who champions inclusion at school—but they should not have to fight their administration to do what is right. It is energizing when meeting a therapist who is so focused on building a child’s skills to be able to be “school ready”—but it should not result in the child returning back just because no school will have them.
Ultimately, we do not need to have all the answers before we act, but can work together to take those measured strides. Inclusion, like any meaningful change, requires the courage to persist—to take imperfect steps, to stumble, to recalibrate, and to press ahead even after several regressions. If anything, it is the very children we fight for who can teach us what it means to be brave in an uncertain world. It is time we start matching their courage with our own to step forward towards a more inclusive Qatar.
In collaboration with the Cambridge Network for Disability and Education Research (CaNDER) and Cambridge University, we’ve developed a comprehensive roadmap for change: read our latest report, “Action Plan for an Inclusive Education Policy for the State of Qatar.”