What the Anti-Accommodation Rhetoric Misses

The Atlantic’s recent article “Accommodation Nation” was just another installment in a slew of articles pushing the same problematic narrative: that students are “gaming the system” to obtain accommodations for fake or inflated disabilities. Many of these articles focus on elite institutions like Stanford University, fueling shock and disdain at the unethical behavior of students at some of our most affluent institutions.

Such reportage has repercussions for students at institutions like mine. As a staff member in City College of San Francisco’s disability services department, I’ve noticed that instructor resistance toward approved accommodations has grown more pronounced. While the majority of instructors I encounter are supportive of students, some are reluctant to accept approved accommodations. When it comes to extended test time in particular—not coincidentally, a topic many of the anti-accommodation articles fixate on—some instructors feel they should be able to discern themselves whether testing accommodations are warranted.

Aside from the stress of adding tasks to already unreasonable workloads for instructors, this conflict seems to stem from a concern that students are being given too much leniency. Having been a study skills tutor, an embedded English tutor and a graduate student teacher, I’m no stranger to the egregious decline in standards for student accountability since the pandemic. Now, it seems that accommodations for disabilities are being perceived as another form of coddling, but this conflation is made in error. Not least, it disregards the fact that at my institution students must present verifiable documentation of a disability from a certified professional to receive disability services—and perhaps unlike at elite universities, such documentation is not something most students can obtain on a whim.

Critics of accommodations also take issue with the increase in diagnoses such as depression and ADHD because of the role of self-reported symptoms. In the era of TikTok diagnoses, hesitance to view self-reporting as valid is understandable. But self-reporting doesn’t automatically mean symptoms are false or exaggerated, nor does it mean students are automatically given accommodations. Professionals in relevant fields who know about these complex variables are the ones assessing their patients’ symptoms, and it is not otherwise appropriate to provide unsolicited judgment.

I work with a diverse population of students who acquire services for bone fractures, brain injuries, a myriad of mental health disorders like borderline personality and schizoaffective disorder, learning disabilities, addiction recovery, developmental impairments, and permanent physical disabilities. Many of these diagnoses are not visible. One author, for example, cited “night terrors” as a “silly” reason for claiming accommodations. However, this dismissive attitude ignores the research that links night terrors to serious, invisible disorders such as post-traumatic stress. Due to FERPA regulations, disability service workers cannot disclose students’ medical diagnoses without documented consent. Because of the sensitive, private nature of medical conditions, students may not want to share such personal details with their instructors—yet they are often made to feel like they have to in order to prove the validity of their accommodations. Stigmatizing disabilities that are not readily visible can contribute to student stress or distress while also adding unnecessary labor for those of us in service roles who act as liaisons and facilitators for these students.

The reality I see on the ground is that most students seeking support truly need it. For some, asking for the help they are legitimately qualified for feels embarrassing or nerve-racking, and I worry how this newly heightened scrutiny will harm those who struggle to advocate for themselves.

By focusing on universities with historic name recognition, even through the lens of criticism, we are platforming the wrong voices. Disabilities are often linked to, and exacerbated by, intersectional marginalizations. At community colleges across the country, students struggle to meet their basic food, housing, childcare and transportation needs. In San Francisco, where I frequently interact with housing-insecure students doing everything in their power to get an education, there was a pro-billionaire march this past February. Mere months before, as we endured what was the longest government shutdown in U.S. history, a major concern among my colleagues was how to support students who might lose their SNAP benefits and go without food.

It is hard to witness students navigating disabilities in the context of failing systems. Removing extended test time as an option and making it harder to obtain diagnoses won’t fix the wealth gaps that allow elites to game the system. If we put stricter requirements on accessing disability services, as some have suggested, it is disadvantaged students who will bear the brunt of the impact.