David Byrne, an Australian educator who lives and works in England, spent ten days in April at Scuola Serena working and living alongside children, educators, and parents. He came to break isolation: the isolation of severely handicapped teenagers who seemed unable to communicate with the world around them, and the isolation of educators—each working within their own specialization. Yet he showed us how to form a living, functioning team, enriched by the participation of parents.
It began with Sabina's return to Scuola Serena after three months in a special school in England, where David works.
Blind and deaf-mute (or so it seemed), Sabina had lived until then wrapped entirely in herself, showing no sign of awareness, fed only liquid food. She returned from that brief stay on her own feet, obeying certain kinds of gestures, able to express simple desires by joining her hands in a sign for "please." Yes, she still has much to learn. And she continues to learn, slowly absorbing the thousand exercises, challenges, contacts, and—I believe—the joys of life with others.
This is what her educator came to show us: you must believe that every child, no matter how handicapped, can progress and will progress if you can offer them the means—if you can establish a genuine human contact with them. And he demonstrated that this is not a "trick" or "magic," but hard, patient work carried out by a true team, following a clearly established program, using methods that have already proven effective.
Believe in what you do and in the potential of each child—each at their own level. Raise the head of one who has always held it low. Keep the hand open for one who has always kept it closed. From the first day, David made this faith his main weapon. He never stopped speaking of it, and he ended the course with this same word.
When you watch him work with Alberto (who lies in bed) or with Massimo (severely autistic), you are immediately convinced that this faith is necessary to fuel the strength, tenderness, imagination, and perseverance required. It is often a struggle with the child. Many severely handicapped children mount an unexpected resistance against anyone trying to break through the wall that separates them from the world, anyone trying to disrupt their habits.
With prodigious willpower and boundless patience (he can work for up to five hours straight with the same child), he imposes his presence and his demands. At this point, he enters into communication with the child, as if to say: "I am here, I exist beside you—I touch you, I let you touch me, I look at you, I let you look at me—and I know you can do what I ask of you."
In my view, this communication—sometimes barely more than a moment—this demand, sometimes stern (the child screams, struggles, refuses to leave his fortress), demonstrates a true recognition of the other person's human dignity.
David is, in a sense, a specialist in communication not only because he works essentially with deaf-blind-mute children, but because he views communication as the foundation of all progress.
Believing this with all his strength, he has managed to make contact even with the most isolated children, using specific communication tools—for example, a small vibrating device to which even the most disconnected children seem to respond. The vibration is perceptible and "pleasant" even for children cut off from the world around them, whether by physical handicap (deafness, blindness) or by severe mental handicap (profound retardation, autism). The proof is that almost all of them learn very quickly to ask for it.
Once the wall of indifference is broken, you use this source of satisfaction not for its own sake but as a "reward" for duty completed. A duty often very small, but still a "duty"—an action requested from outside, by another person.
One cannot say that this presence of the "other" is always immediately and clearly perceived by the handicapped child, but the work is always directed toward this awakening of awareness. Not, therefore: "I open my hand" equals "vibration" (or caress or music or other reward). Rather: "You want me to open my hand—I open it—and you give me something I like."
Certainly it is conditioning, but broadened and always tending toward something larger. For this reason, the same reward will be given for duties of different kinds, as soon as that becomes possible. Moreover, to avoid pure and simple conditioning, the same exercises are performed with the child by different educators—one after another—and in different settings.
The child's educators are the teacher, the assistant, the parents, the physical therapist, the psychologist, and others. Anyone who has contact with the child can and must speak this language with him. These people must therefore form a tightly unified team with a shared educational spirit and a clear program of exercises, known to all and practiced in the same way by each person.
How is this program established?
First, it is highly individualized, based on a complete assessment of each child's abilities and needs. Detailed charts and questionnaires have been created that provide a clear picture of the child's level in five essential areas: gross motor skills, fine motor skills, self-care, communication, and socialization.
Based on this assessment, immediate goals are set for each child, to be achieved through small, repeated acquisitions (for example: bringing a spoon from the lips into the mouth, taking three steps instead of two).
Each goal is written clearly on the child's personal chart and specifies the method to be followed and the materials needed. These charts form the material foundation of teamwork, allowing every member to work with every child toward the same progress using the same method.
These individual programs are of primary importance. But they require a thorough examination of each child, knowledge of other assessments and evaluations (medical, clinical, and others), and solid knowledge of psychomotor development. They also require enormous practical sense and an imagination always alert to finding simple but effective means, to selecting or inventing new materials—simple yet perfectly suited to the required exercises.
All of this demands much work in small details, repeated effort without fatigue, cooperation among everyone, including parents, to whatever extent possible.
It seems to me that those who participated in these days of discussion but especially of working together appreciated David's professional skill and his human qualities. Like me, I believe they saw in his work a future, a hope for the education of handicapped children who for so long were called "unredeemable"—children who can show us that, being alive, they too can progress if we have the will and the knowledge to reach them.
— Nicole Schulthes, 1976