Inclusive Leadership: A Review

James Ryan
OISE/UT

This article reviews the literature on inclusive leadership. It surveys those genres of
leadership research that are very loosely concerned with issues of inclusion. They include
those that go under the banner of teacher leadership, shared governance, participative
leadership, student leadership, site-based management, community involvement and
emancipatory or critical leadership. Each of these genres emphasize the different aspects
of inclusive leadership. Some stress the process or governance side of leadership, while
others attend to the ends of leadership – what leadership processes are organized to
pursue. The only perspective that does address both the ends and process has other
limitations. But while each standpoint represents only a partial and decidedly limited view
of inclusive leadership, taken together, they provide considerable insight into it.

Inclusion is increasingly being seen as an integral part of leadership. Many

academics and practitioners believe that schools and the communities that they serve will
be better places when parents, students, teachers and community members – and not just
administrators – are included in schools’ governance activities. But a view that sees
leadership and inclusion, as most do, strictly in terms of participation in decision- and
policy-making processes, is a narrow one. It ignores the fact that leadership activities
occur within a context that is in many ways, exclusive. All men, women and children do
not have the same opportunities to participate in various social processes and activities,
including influence and governance matters; many are consistently excluded by virtue of
the more global class, race, gender relationships in which they participate. If leadership
activities do not at the same time address these and other wider exclusive practices, they
will in the end defeat efforts to meaningfully include others besides administrators in
leadership processes. Indeed there is little point endorsing inclusive processes of leadership
if they are not at the same time organized to promote broader inclusive principles and
outcomes. If educators are truly serious about promoting inclusion in leadership and
governance activities, then they must attend not only to decision- and policy-making
processes, but also the ends for which they strive. For leadership to be meaningfully
inclusive, it must find a way to include everyone in governance processes and be organized
to pursue inclusive principles.

There is no shortage of literature on inclusive leadership, that is, literature that

explores or promotes participation of others besides administrators in governance
processes, and/or advocates for leadership processes that promote the general principle of
inclusion. Most of this literature, however, does not adopt the heading "inclusive
leadership." It employs other names such as teacher leadership, shared governance,
participative leadership, student leadership, site-based management, community
involvement and emancipatory or critical leadership. The only group of studies that uses
the title, inclusive leadership, employs the term, “inclusive,” to refer to the education of
differently-abled students. Each of these genres emphasize the different aspects of
inclusive leadership. Some stress the process or governance side of leadership, while
others attend to the ends of leadership – what leadership processes are organized to pursue.
The only perspective that does address both the ends and process has other limitations. But
while each standpoint represents only a partial and decidedly limited view of inclusive
leadership, taken together, they provide considerable insight into it.

This article reviews the ways in which the various genres of leadership treat
inclusion. It looks at the manner in which each contributes to knowledge of the process
and ends of leadership in schools. The review begins with a description and critique of
emancipatory leadership.

Emancipatory Leadership

Proponents of emancipatory leadership advocate for a more comprehensive view of

inclusion than other theorists. Not only do emancipatory champions want educational
leadership processes to be inclusive; they are also committed to working for more global
forms of inclusion. They view leadership as only one element of a much wider concern
with inclusion. Emancipatory promoters rightly believe that this concern is warranted
because our institutions and communities are deeply unfair; some people consistently enjoy
advantages at the expense of others (Ryan, 2006). The task for leadership then, is to get
people to recognize these injustices and work together to change these widespread patterns.
Only then can people become truly emancipated. To do this, emancipatory proponents
appeal to theory. They employ theory to help people understand and critique the status quo
and assist them in eventually changing oppressive structures. This has proven to be a
difficult task, however. Few schools actually practice this form of emancipatory
leadership. The consequence of this is that most of the studies in this area are theoretical
and prescriptive, and not grounded in empirical evidence.

Many emancipatory proponents employ critical theory, which traces its roots to
self-estrangement theory (Fay, 1987). Dating back centuries, the latter portrays humans as
fallen creatures. Blinded to their true situation, they have lost their way. In the process,
they have created forms of life that are unsatisfying. All is not lost, however. This theory
goes on to say that if men and women can only rid themselves of their blinders, understand
their true needs and capacities, then they can take action that will enable them to throw off
the shackles that currently bind them (Ryan, 1998). Doing so will provide them with the
individual and collective autonomy they need to be able to control how they will live their
lives.

The humanist version of self-estrangement theory has taken many forms over the
years. The earlier ones concentrated on the economy. Critical theorists maintained that the
dominant economic system -- capitalism -- was unfair. This was because a few individuals
profited from the work of many. These few got the most out of life, while the vast majority
had to make do with considerably less. Critical theorists believed that for this injustice to
come to an end, people had to first recognize how unfair this was, then take action to
change this system (Giddens, 1981). Later versions of this theory branched out to include
the injustices associated with race, gender and sexual orientation. What all these theorists
had in common was a concern for the less fortunate and the marginalized. They all agreed
that these individuals were not to be blamed for their situations. Rather, it was the wider
social structures of capitalism, sexism, racism, and homophobia, among others, that put
these people at a disadvantage. Critical theorists recognized that people needed to be made
aware of these processes so they could take action to change them.

These ideas were subsequently adapted and applied to education and eventually
leadership. Over the years scholars have used them to illuminate the ways in which class,
race and gender hierarchies work in schools. They have documented their different effects
on students, teachers, parents and governance processes. Emancipatory leadership
advocates call for collective over individualist forms of leadership, emphasize leadership's
educative side and stress the importance of dialogue. Some also acknowledge the difficulty
of putting their ideas into practice (Robinson, 1994).

Critical theories of leadership are, for the most part, consistent with the ideals of
inclusion. To begin with, they reject individual and hierarchical views of leadership.
Critical theorists distrust the hierarchies that accompany bureaucratic forms of
organization. They correctly point out that these kinds of arrangements both reflect and
reinforce wider social hierarchies and injustices (Corson, 1996). Some contend that these
organizational hierarchies themselves display class and gender overtones (Blackmore,
1989; Grace, 1995). Feminists have been the most articulate about this. They have argued
that this hierarchical division of labor is masculine in nature, and they criticize the ideals of
power and control that are part of this corporate management view (Blackmore, 1999;
Ferguson, 1984; Grundy, 1993; Ogza, 1993). Critical theorists also take issue with the
heroic view of leadership. They point out that individual men and women who occupy
positions of responsibility are seldom capable on their own of creating fundamental
changes and producing new and better values. Few administrators are charismatic, but
most can be competent. As a consequence, critical theorists call not for heroes, but for
modest men and women to step forward (Tierney, 1989; Foster, 1989).

In an inclusive spirit, critical theorists favor collaborative, reciprocal and horizontal

relationships over the more traditional management hierarchies. For them, leadership does
not reside in a position or a person, but in equitable, caring and fluid relationships among
various individuals (Rusch, 1998). In their view, everyone should have a voice and the
opportunity to contribute in their own ways to what happens in schools. For this to occur,
school communities need to nurture dialogue (Corson, 1996, 2000; Foster, 1994; Smyth,
1996; Ryan, 2002; Ryan, 2003). They need to work toward providing conditions that allow
everyone to communicate with one another. Among other things, this requires that
communities foster communicative virtues like tolerance, patience, an openness to giving
and receiving criticism, a willingness to admit mistakes, listen thoughtfully and attentively,
reexamine one’s own presuppositions and compare them with others, and reinterpret one's
own concerns in a style that makes them comprehensible to others (Burbules, 1993).
Dialogue is also crucial to the educative part of emancipatory leadership (Ryan, 2002,
2003).
 Emancipatory leadership emphasizes the educative side of leadership. It is perhaps
this aspect more than any other that sets emancipatory leadership apart from other
leadership perspectives. Critical theorists contend that the work of leadership is more
educational than managerial; it is not about charisma or acting decisively, but about
assisting members of school communities to learn about the world and to search out
alternatives to the status quo (Grundy, 1993). The educative part of emancipatory
leadership is first and foremost concerned with critiquing existing patterns of privilege.
This is necessary, according to critical theorists, because most people do not notice that
many of the things that they and others do are harmful. We take a lot of these things for
granted, so we don't always notice when this is happening (Anderson, 1990; Blase &
Anderson, 1995). The task for leadership, then, is to raise the consciousness of people so
that they can recognize widespread and harmful exclusive practices like racism and sexism
and do something about them. This requires that school communities perpetually raise
questions about what they do and about the wider context within which learning and
schooling occurs. Schools need to audit themselves, but these audits are not the kind that
accountants do. "Schools need to be involved in questioning what it is they are doing, not
from an accountant's point of view, but from the perspective of how their agenda fits with a
broader view of what constitutes a just society. If there is any auditing of schools deemed
necessary, then it needs to be educational, moral and democratic forms of auditing."
(Smyth, 1996, p. 1111).

Unfortunately, it is difficult to find examples of emancipatory leadership practices

in schools; they are few and far between. There are a number of reasons for this. Perhaps
the most obvious is that educators work in culturally conservative institutions that value
homogeneity, resist change and look unfavorably on challenges (Rizvi, 1993; Ryan, 2003;
Walker & Walker, 1998). Moreover, many of the people who can do the most to introduce
this kind of leadership -- most of them administrators -- are themselves conservative,
socialized into a system that rewards supporters (Ryan, 2003). An administrator's job is
generally one that puts out fires rather than starts them. Unfortunately, those who actually
do adopt adversarial stances to force through progressive reforms may find themselves
looking for work; many of the best adversarial leaders have been fired (Blase & Anderson,
1995). Challenging the system can be risky business. So the answer, at least in part, is to
set up leadership dynamics that are not based on the personality of a single individual, but
on processes that involve everyone (Blase & Anderson, 1995). This way such
organizations can survive the loss of any single individual and be true to inclusive
principles.

The emancipatory leadership literature contributes many things to our knowledge

of inclusive leadership – especially its balanced account of inclusive leadership. It attends
to both the process and the end-values of leadership. In this view, leadership processes are
just one part of a greater concern with inclusion. Leadership processes are organized not
only to reflect inclusion within school governance structures, but also to pursue it in
communities and the world generally. Toward this end, leadership processes educate
members of the school community to recognize the often hidden forms of exclusion, and to
make changes that promote inclusion. The slim amount of evidence available and the more
theoretical and prescriptive accounts point to ways in which school communities might do
this. Dialogue is crucial. So too is the idea that leadership is best thought of not in terms
of heroic individuals, but as collective and equitable processes.

Emancipatory leadership approaches also display weaknesses. There is a

significant gulf between theory and practice. Critical theorists rely heavily on theory and
prescription. This preoccupation sometimes blinds proponents to other insights and
realities. At the same time, dependence on theory is also a result of there being so few
examples of emancipatory leadership practices in schools. If inclusive leadership is to
become a reasonable alternative, school communities need to take steps to embrace what
can potentially be a misunderstood and threatening set of arrangements. Not everyone is
likely to acknowledge criticism of current practice and embrace changes that may threaten
them. For example, principals are generally reluctant to admit to the presence of racism in
their schools, and this affects the ways in which they respond to suggestions for change
(Ryan, 2003). To increase the chances that people will embrace inclusion, leadership
practices also need to be organized to advocate for inclusion, something that few address
seriously.

Other areas of literature address a number of these shortcomings. First, they

provide more detail on the unique circumstances associated with the inclusion of different
groups of people in leadership processes. The literature on teacher and student leadership
and parental involvement give us insight into the circumstances surrounding the inclusion
of these particular groups. Second, the more plentiful empirical studies in these areas
supply evidence about leadership processes themselves, including what it means to include
people in leadership processes, the reasons for and benefits of inclusion, the difficulties
associated with inclusion, and the actions that help inclusive practice. Finally, this body of
literature provides more detail on achieving the end-values of leadership. In particular, the
literature on leadership and inclusion of differently-abled students presents a number of
strategies for promoting inclusion.

Teacher Leadership

The teacher leadership literature provides, by far, the largest body of work that
touches on inclusion. It includes research on teacher leadership, shared governance and
participatory leadership. By definition, all of this work concentrates primarily on teachers.
With a few exceptions (see for example, Blasé & Anderson, 1995), it focuses almost
exclusively on the process rather than the ends of leadership, exploring how teachers do or
do not become involved in influence processes, but generally not attending to more global
matters of inclusion and social justice.

Most studies in this area examine experiments of teacher leadership in schools, of

which there have been many in recent times. While teacher leadership has a long history, it
has become a more common practice following the so-called second-wave of reform (Blase
& Blase, 2000). Prompted in part by the recommendations of second-wave reformers,
many schools have initiated changes to their governance structures. By the late 1980s just
about every state in the United States had adopted or was studying some form of teacher
leadership (Smylie, Conley, & Marks, 2002). My task here is to examine those parts of the
teacher leadership literature that help readers understand and promote inclusive leadership,
especially the nature of teacher leadership, the problems associated with it and the
strategies employed to introduce, implement and sustain it.

What is Teacher Leadership?

Despite all the research and differing views about what teacher leadership is or
should be (Bacharach, Bamberger, Conley & Bauer, 1990; Somech, 2002; Smylie, 1997),
most research in this area agrees that the purpose of teacher leadership is to provide
teachers with power in settings where traditionally they have not had it. The aim of this
redistribution of power is to allow teachers to make decisions in a variety of areas that are
relevant to their work (Short & Rinehart, 1992), by participating in decision-making
processes, having authority over professional issues at the classroom and school levels, and
obtaining opportunities to acquire knowledge that warrants this authority (Kirby, 1992).

Teacher leadership can be formal or informal (Leithwood, Jantzi, & Steinbach,

1999). Informal leadership can occur outside of officially designated roles and
responsibilities. It may include sharing expertise, volunteering for new projects, bringing
new ideas to school, helping colleagues carry out classroom duties, assisting in
improvement of classroom practice, accepting responsibility for professional growth,
promoting the school's mission and working for improvement of the school and system
(Leithwood, et. al., 1999). Teacher leadership may also involve other pursuits like
conducting research in one’s own classrooms and schools (Smylie, et. al. 2002).

Formal leadership generally involves teachers working in officially designated

capacities. These positions may include acting as a department or division head, union
representative, member of a school governance body, representative of the school and
district, among many others (Leithwood, et. al., 1999). Perhaps the most attention in this
area, however, has been given to initiatives that involve lead or master teachers, career
ladders and mentorship programs. The lead teacher position was designed to allow
particularly able teachers to develop curricular and instructional programs, organize staff
development and perform various administrative duties (Smylie, 1997). Career ladder
programs emphasize job enlargement and new evaluation systems that provide
opportunities for teachers to develop and implement projects that enhance student learning,
improve the total school program, design curricula and share expertise with teaching
colleagues (Smylie, 1997). Teacher mentoring programs provide opportunities for
experienced teachers to share their expertise with less experienced colleagues.

The nature of teachers’ involvement in activities and decision-making varies. The

extent to which they may participate tends to be related to the nature of the issue, the
degree to which their interests are affected and their willingness to take risks associated
with assuming responsibility (Blase & Blase, 1997). Teacher involvement may be passive
and hidden or overt and active (Imber & Duke, 1984). Those who participate, however, do
not always have influence. Teachers who sit on committees, for example, may not be able
to influence in any meaningful way the decisions that are eventually made. These kinds of
situations may prompt teachers to avoid or oppose opportunities for participation (Blase &
Dungan, 1994; Epp & MacNeil, 1997; Kirby, 1992; Short & Greer, 1997).

One way of categorizing levels of involvement is in terms of a continuum that goes

from autocratic (the principal makes the decision on his or her own), to information-sharing
(the principal obtains information from teachers and makes the decision on his or her own),
to consultative (the principal shares the problem and makes a decision which may or may
not reflect the teachers' views) to democratic (the principal shares the problem, analyzes
and comes to a decision with teachers) (Somech, 2002; See also Short & Greer, 1997; and
Crockenburg & Clark, 1979). On the other end of the continuum, teachers make decisions
on their own, after sharing information or after consultation.

There are many potential areas for teacher participation (Barth, 2001; Bredeson,
1989; Conley, 1991; Crockenberg & Clark, 1979; Duke, 1980; Goldman, Dunlap, &
Conley, 1993; Imber & Duke, 1984; Rinehart, Short, Short, & Eckley, 1998;Short & Greer,
1997; Somech, 2002). One typology, for example, specifies that teachers can become
involved in decisions relating to curriculum and instruction, personnel, goal-setting, student
conduct, scheduling, extra school relationships and facilities (Imber & Duke, 1984).
Research indicates, however, that teachers are not always keen to participate in decisions
that do not directly concern them. For example, they prefer not to take part in more
administrative-type decisions (Epp & MacNeil, 1997; Blase & Blase, 1999). On the other
hand, others maintain that teachers need to become involved in areas central to the school's
health. These include choosing instructional materials, shaping the curriculum, setting
standards for student behavior, deciding whether students are tracked in special classes,
designing staff development, setting promotion and retention policies, deciding school
budgets, evaluating teacher performance and selecting new teachers and administrators
(Barth, 2001).

Why Teacher Leadership?

Many who write in the area of teacher leadership make cases for why it is a good
thing. Fewer refer to its mixed blessings, while virtually no one recommends that teacher
leadership be avoided. The cases that writers make can be classified as either practical or
moral. The moral argument states that teacher leadership should be adopted because it is
good for schools or that everyone should have the right to participate in influence
processes, especially in decisions that affect their lives and work (Somech, 2002),
particularly in democratic countries (Wallace, 2001). Others maintain that teaching is a
moral activity, and for moral agents to be responsible for their acts, they must be free to act
according to their best judgments, and not have others make decisions for them (Bolin,
1989).

Writers also encourage schools to embrace teacher leadership for practical reasons.
Their argument is that teacher leadership will improve the ways that schools work.
However, these claims are not consistently supported by the evidence. Studies that explore
the relationship between teacher leadership and organizational effectiveness and student
achievement are inconclusive (Blase & Blasé, 1997; Blase & Dungan, 1994; Bredeson,
1989; Frost, Wakely, & Ruh, 1974; Glickman, Allen, & Lunsford, 1994; Leithwood et. al.,
1999; Leithwood & Jantzi in Riley & Louis, 2000; Smylie, 1997; Smylie et. al., 2002).
The same holds for the effects on relationships within the school community (Blase &
Blase, 1997; Bredeson, 1989; Rinehart et. al., 1998; Smylie, 1997). The most consistent
results concern the positive effects of teacher leadership on teachers' demeanor and
opportunities for professional learning (Blase & Blase, 1997; Blase & Dungan, 1994;
Conley, 1991; Epp.& MacNeil, 1997; Frost et. al., 1974; Kirby, 1992; Rice & Schneider,
1994; Rinehart & Short, 1994; Smylie, 1997). One notable finding is that increased
opportunities for participation result in greater conflict (Blase & Blase, 1997; Rinehart et.
al., 1998; Smylie, 1997). This conflict is related to role ambiguity and increases in
workload, something that I follow up on in the next section.

What are the Barriers that Inhibit Teacher Leadership Initiatives?

Experiments with teacher leadership are not always successful (Kirby, 1992). One
reason for failure has to do with the ideas and feelings participants bring to these
experiments. Administrators and teachers may have difficulty working outside of the
traditional bureaucratic cultures and structures to which they are accustomed.
Administrators are not always willing to surrender power to others (Blase & Blase, 1997;
Blase & Blase, 1999; Bolin, 1989; Kirby, 1992). But even those who are able to do so find
that it is difficult to escape the authority and responsibility that accompanies their position
because they will inevitably have to answer for others if things go wrong (Bolin, 1989;
Bredeson, 1989; Wallace, 2001). Teachers may also not be keen to abandon the comfort of
having others make decisions and take responsibility (Epp & MacNeil. 1997; Blase &
Blase, 1999). Teachers are also sometimes reluctant to participate in governance activities
and they may not want to break solidarity with colleagues by assuming authority that their
colleagues do not have (Conley, 1991; Datnow & Castellano, 2001; Duke, Showers &
Imber, 1980).

In these unfamiliar situations of teacher leadership teachers and administrators may

not know what their respective roles are, or should be (Blase & Blase, 1997; Bredeson,
1989; Clift, Johnson, Holland, & Veal, 1992; Datnow & Castellano, 2001; Epp & MacNeil,
1997; Leithwood et. al., 1999). Teachers and administrators often have different ideas
about what their respective roles should be. This ambiguity generates conflict and anxiety
on the part of both teachers and administrators (Blase & Blase, 1997; Blase & Blase, 1999;
Clift et. al., 1992; Glickman, Allen, & Lunsford, 1994; Smylie & Brownlea-Conyers,
1992). Still, conflict is not just the result of uncertainty around roles; it also emerges as
participants move into positions where they disclose their differences more overtly (Blase
& Blase, 1997; Glickman et. al., 1994). This conflict is not necessarily always a bad thing.

Attempts at implementing teacher leadership arrangements also face other

impediments. Two of these are time and work (Blase & Blase, 1999; Bredeson, 1989; Clift
et. al., 1992; Conley, 1991; Duke et. al., 1980; Epp & MacNeil, 1997; Short & Greer,
1997). Leadership activities require extra work and this work requires additional time. Not
surprisingly, teachers often find they simply do not have enough time to devote both to
teaching and to these activities. Traditional school time patterns do not always help.
Inflexible schedules make it difficult for those who teach to engage in other activities
(Conley, 1991). Also, teachers tend to resent activities that cut into time normally spent on
classroom-related activities, particularly if they do not have any apparent effect on the
classroom (Leithwood et. al., 2001). Implementing teacher leadership arrangements also
becomes more difficult when teachers feel their opinions are not valued and acted upon and
when they receive little support and few resources (Blase & Dungan, 1994; Epp &
MacNeil, 1997; Kirby, 1992; Short & Greer, 1997).

What Strategies Work Best in Implementing Teacher Leadership?

Although schools often face difficulties when they attempt to implement teacher
leadership, some schools have been able to overcome them. There are many examples of
successful or partially successful teacher leadership endeavors. And this is perhaps where
the research on teacher leadership is most helpful. Researchers have studied many
initiatives of this sort in schools, and they have documented their successes and failures.

For teacher leadership to succeed, teachers and administrators need to approach

changes with certain kinds of attitudes. It is difficult, if not impossible, for them to cope
with substantial changes without these attitudes. To begin with, principals and teachers
have to be prepared to share power and they need to be willing and committed to the new
arrangements (Blase & Blase, 1997; Blase & Blase, 1999; Bredeson, 1989; Epp &
MacNeil, 1997). The uncertainty generally associated with changes of this nature also
requires them to be patient and tolerant (Blase & Blase, 2000). Communication is also
important in these scenarios (Blase & Blasé, 1997; Blase & Blase, 2000). Those involved
need to acquire or develop the skills that enable them to collaborate effectively (Datnow &
Castellano, 2001). For this to happen, they need to be open and honest with others (Short
& Greer, 1997).

School administrators have a crucial role to play in this process because they have
more influence than teachers. One of the key things they must do is learn how to share
their legal power with others, to shift their orientation from decision-makers to facilitators
(Blase & Blase, 1997; Blase & Blase, 1999; Datnow & Castellano, 2001; Epp & MacNeil,
1997; Glickman et. al., 1994; Short & Greer, 1997). Administrators also need to be well
informed, understand all the new roles and be able to explain them to others (Bredeson,
1989). It is also important is for administrators do what they can to shape a school culture
that supports teacher leadership (Datnow & Castellano, 2001; Short & Greer, 1997). But it
is not just building administrators who ought to become involved in these tasks. If teacher
leadership initiatives are to succeed, then district administrators also must do what they can
to support them (Crockenburg & Clark, 1979).

More important than individual administrators in this process are institutional

arrangements. Those involved in teacher leadership initiatives need to ensure that the
institutions in which they work support these initiatives. This means entrenching, and as
far as possible, formalizing such practices in these institutions (Blase & Blase, 2000;
Crockenburg & Clark, 1979). These practices include:
• decision-making arrangements that give teachers real power (Duke et. al., 1980; Short
& Greer, 1997);
• a locally controlled process that allows teachers to frame a definition of empowerment
(Crockenburg & Clark, 1979; Epp & MacNeil, 1997; Short & Greer, 1997);
• roles that are clearly specified, yet not overly constraining (Leithwood et. al., 1999);
• a climate that supports risk-taking (Datnow & Castellano, 2001; Short & Greer, 1997);
• processes for helping participants problem-solve and manage conflict (Short & Greer,
1997);
• a mechanism for providing adequate resources (Blase & Blase, 1997; Bredeson, 1989;
Short & Greer, 1997);
• schedules that allow teachers the extra time they need to participate in leadership
activities (Blase & Blase, 1999; Short & Greer, 1997);
• an ongoing process for educating participants (Short & Greer, 1997).

Those involved in teacher leadership initiatives need help to implement and sustain
them. These arrangements will be new to participants and many will not know what to
expect from them or how to deal with the novel situations that inevitably arise. Hence,
they will need to be provided with ongoing professional development that prepares them
for what to expect ahead of time and provides them with assistance with ongoing issues
that arise. Professional development is most effective when it helps participants understand
how to set up and engage in problem solving and decision-making processes and when it is
locally run and directly relevant to the situations that teachers and administrators face
(Bolin, 1989; Goldman et. al., 1993; Short & Greer, 1997). These activities are most
helpful when they focus on the interpersonal and communication skills that are required to
deal with the inevitable conflict and uncertainty (Blase & Blase, 1999; Blase & Blase,
2000). Learning should also be organized to help teachers and administrators critically
reflect on their experiences with teacher leadership and to learn from them (Blase & Blase,
1999).

Teacher leadership initiatives are most likely to succeed when they are implemented
gradually (Blase & Blase, 1999; Blase & Blase, 2000; Clift et. al., 1992; Keedy & Finch,
1994). Whether they are introduced as part of a system-wide effort or initiated within
individual schools, ideas about these sorts of arrangements ought to be gradually nurtured
in ways that garner much needed local support. Imposition from above without support
from below limits the survival chances of these sorts of endeavors. As support grows,
discussion and planning need to take place, and everyone affected should be involved.
When plans are in place, then schools can begin the incremental adoption of teacher
leadership practices (Blase & Blase, 2000). This stage takes time. It involves
experimentation, trial and error and considerable negotiations, even when arrangements are
clearly laid out (Blase & Blase, 2000; Clift et. al., 1992; Keedy & Finch, 1994). And this is
the time when conflict is most likely to surface. So those involved need to be patient as
people orient themselves to situations that are new to them. In some schools, consensus
about roles may begin to emerge as early as the second year (Clift et. al., 1992). But not all
schools are the same, and those involved need to realize that schools spawn different forms
of leadership in their own ways and time (Blase & Blase, 2000; Glickman et. al., 1994).
 The extensive research into teacher leadership has much to offer inclusive
leadership by providing useful information about why schools should adopt teacher
leadership practices and what they look like. They also supply insight into potential
barriers to successful implementation and outline what needs to be done for teacher
leadership to work. On the other hand, the preoccupation of teacher leadership research
with influence processes precludes inquiry into leadership goals or ends, and in particular,
social justice and inclusion issues. Moreover, it only focuses on the inclusion of one group
-- teachers -- and provides little, if any, information on other groups, including students and
parents.

Despite shortcomings, the empirical research into teacher leadership has provided
useful insight into inclusion. Among other things it has generated evidence that challenges
an individualistic view of leadership. This evidence suggests that there is a difference in
the way many people think about leadership and what actually happens in schools and
other organizations (Gronn, 2002; Smylie et. al, 2002). Research into teacher leadership
has revealed that leadership is not simply a function of an individual leader's ability,
knowledge, charisma and cognition, but is something that is part of a socio-cultural
context. In other words, influence is more than the product of an individual’s actions. It is
best understood as a distributed or organizational practice that is "stretched over" varieties
of artifacts, tools, language, people and relationships (Gronn, 2002; Pounder, Ogawa &
Adams, 1995; Spillane, Halverson & Hiamond, 2001). These findings have implications
both for the practice of leadership and for school improvement. They point to the fact that
schools improve not necessarily as the result of individual people doing remarkable things
in isolation, but as the consequence of a variety of people working together in many
different ways and roles, using the multitude of different resources that are available to
them (Leithwood et. al, 1999; Smylie et. al, 2002).

Student Leadership

Student leadership in schools has become more visible in recent years. Where once
adults who ran these organizations gave little consideration to student input, now they are
making efforts to include students in various aspects of schooling. Students are beginning
to have more say in the actual running of schools, in the curriculum and how it is taught.
Despite these changes, however, questions remain as to the real impact of this sort of
inclusion. Indeed, instances of influential student participation remain far and few between
(Blase & Blase, 1999; Blase & Dungan ,1994; Critchley, 2003; Levin, 2001; Levin, 1998;
Short & Greer, 1997), and in most parts of the Western world this participation is not
entrenched in policy (Critchley, 2003). In some instances, initiatives that look to involve
students are seen as mere tokenism.

Despite the cynicism in some quarters over student leadership, school systems have
in recent years taken steps to introduce mechanisms that allow students to participate in
influence processes in schools. These include representation on school councils, student
councils, school improvement teams, advisory teams and school boards (Bechtel & Reed,
1998; Critchley, 2003; Fletcher in Jensen & Walker 1998; Furtwengler, 1996; Levin, 1998;
Young & Levin, 1998). Students have also been asked to complete surveys and participate
in round table discussions; they have had the opportunity to serve on government
commissions and school accreditation panels; and they have been part of various student
associations and groups (Critchley, 2003). They have also had the opportunity, at least in
principle, to influence decisions about curriculum content and organization, textbooks,
evaluation practices, school rules, discipline and controversial issues (Levin, 1998).
Unfortunately, these measures do not always ensure real student influence. Student roles of
this sort are rarely entrenched in policy, and when they are, they are generally of an
advisory nature. For example, a recent policy initiative in the province of Ontario has
made a place for students on local school boards, but only in an advisory capacity.

One reason that student leadership is not more common is that some educators
oppose it, believing that students are not capable of making sound educational decisions,
lack confidence, cannot handle the heavy workload associated with this sort of involvement
and are only around for a few years (Wood, 1977). Other educators are put off by young
people’s tendency to challenge traditions and injustices, a lack of time, heavy teaching
loads, tight school schedules, potential conflict between teachers and students and a lack of
knowledge about how to include students in policy processes (Osler & Starkey, 1998;
Critchley, 2003; Wood, 1977).

Those who argue in favor of student leadership generally cite three kinds of
arguments. First, students have a right to be involved in decisions that affect them. The
Convention on the Rights of Children recognizes that children not only have the rights of
protection and provision (of educational services), but also the rights of participation and
citizenship. Schools cannot ignore the views of these young people just because they are
young (Osler & Starkey, 1998). Second, student input can improve schools (Levin, 2001;
Furtwengler, 1996). Students have valuable knowledge of classrooms and school processes
which can be used to make schools better places (Levin, 2001; Levin, 1998; Weber, 1996).
Students’ involvement in determining learning opportunities also increases their motivation
to learn. When those involved in the learning process have some input into it, they will be
more likely to feel that they belong and become engaged (Kohn, 1999; Levin, 2001).
Finally, students can learn valuable lessons about democracy in schools that actually
practice democratic values (Levin, 1998; Scane & Wignall, 1996; Treslan, 1983).

There are a few examples of student leadership initiatives in the literature (see, for
example, Mackin, 1996, pp. 9-16; Lee and Ursel, 2001, pp. 12-13; Leisey et. al. (in
Critchley, 1999), and Trafford, 1997). One of these describes the efforts of a number of
schools to involve students in a school improvement plan, the Reaching Success through
Involvement (RSI) program (Furtwengler, 1996). This initiative improved student
discipline, sense of belonging, perceptions of control and feelings of personal responsibility
for the school. Unfortunately, students were not encouraged to extend their democratic
attitudes into the classroom. The same could not be said of student-educator relationships
in “School X,” a high school in Japan (Hirata, 2003). Students and teachers believed that
their relationship was “more equal,” both in and out of the classroom. They also believed
that students exerted real influence in the school.
 The literature on student leadership has provided a number of insights into inclusive
leadership. It has shown that there are many ways in which students can become involved
in the operation of schools and there are very good pragmatic and moral reasons for
including students in influence processes. The arguments behind these justifications
outweigh the objections that some educators have over student input. Research has
revealed that students are knowledgeable about school processes and they also have the
interests of schools at heart (Levin, 2001, 1998). This does not mean that including
students in school operations will be easy. Students and educators may not know how to
approach student leadership initiatives, and conflict may ensue when they do proceed. One
way to deal with this is to involve students, teachers and administrators in activities that
will teach them how to conduct themselves in these sorts of initiatives. But for student
leadership to work, it also has to become part of the normal operations of a school, which
means that students' formal participation needs to be entrenched in policy.

Community Involvement

Like student leadership, the idea and practice of including parents in the operation
of schools has become more popular over the past few years. Not only have parents been
encouraged to venture into their children's schools, they have also been asked to participate
in policy and decision-making processes (see for example, Epstein, 1997; and Leithwood,
Jantzi & Steinbach, 1999, pp. 467-493). Initiatives to include the community in school
operations have taken two forms -- empowerment and enablement (Lewis & Nakagawa,
1995).

Strategies associated with empowerment target what its advocates see as the main
problem – the lack of power that various individuals and communities have over
educational institutions (see for example, Carmichael and Hamilton, 1967, Fine, 1993, pp.
682-710, and Levin, 1970). The main culprits in this scenario are self-absorbed
educational bureaucracies. These entities seek to retain power for themselves, excluding
already powerless parents, particularly those who are poor and those who belong to
particular ethnic groups. Ensuring meaningful inclusion, then, requires the empowerment
of these otherwise powerless parents. This will happen only when school systems display
alternate structural arrangements that give parents a voice in the governance of educational
institutions. These changes would help parents to become more satisfied with their
children’s schools and committed to education, and students to increase their academic
achievement (Lewis & Nakagawa, 1995).

The other approach to community inclusion is enablement. Advocates of the

enablement perspective do not believe that the cause of exclusion is powerful,
professionally staffed, self-absorbed bureaucracies (see for example, Comer, 1986, pp. 442-
446, Epstein, 1997, and Lightfoot, 1978). In some situations, however, certain people can
have too much power, and others too little, and power can sometimes be abused.
Bureaucracies can be unresponsive and sometimes dysfunctional, but these power
differentials and bureaucratic shortcomings can be resolved from within the system. Thus,
the emphasis is not on power per se, but on commitment to schools in a rapidly changing
social environment. It is up to educational professionals to change themselves and the
organizations in which they work to reach out to the community and draw it into the school
enterprise. Educators are encouraged to provide incentives for parents to become involved
in their children’s education for educational rather than political ends. Getting parents to
work as educational resources in their children’s education, eliciting their commitment to
the educational enterprise and working out more collaborative arrangements among the
school, parents and the community will ultimately enhance student achievement (Lewis &
Nakagawa, 1995).

Not all inclusive school-community proposals or practices turn out to be exclusively

of the empowerment or enablement variety. Some include elements of both, and so-called
enablement programs sometimes value empowerment. Perhaps the reforms that resemble
most closely the empowerment model occurred in large urban American centers in the
1980s and 1990s. Looking for alternatives to systems that had failed the largely Black
populations of these areas, various groups in such cities as Philadelphia, Baltimore, New
York, Detroit and Chicago banded together to make changes to what were once large
bureaucratic systems (Fine, 1993; Lewis & Nakagawa, 1995). Variations among districts
notwithstanding, new legislation paved the way for massive decentralization that allowed
local parents a voice in the governance of their children’s schools.

Not all urban American centers sponsored empowerment reforms, however.

Educational reforms in Miami and Los Angeles followed more closely an enablement
model. In these cities “insiders” rather than “outsiders” controlled the decentralization
process, and as a result, they were able to make changes administratively and control the
inclusion process. Many inclusive school-community reforms in the Western world have
combined these two models. In some areas, like Ontario for example, although parental
roles have been legislated, parents still remain relatively powerless. In the United
Kingdom, on the other hand, legislation has provided parents with more power than what
they previously had, and undoubtedly more power than Ontario parents currently have. In
both cases, though, a strengthening of central powers has rendered any gains parents have
made relatively meaningless (see, for example, Apple, 2000, pp. 84-107, Hatcher, Troyna
and Gewirtz, 1996, and Leithwood et. al. 1999).

While enabling tactics and events are important in getting parents – particularly
those who are reluctant – involved in school activities, they only constitute part of inclusive
practice. Inclusion goes beyond bake sales, cultural events, parent nights and the like.
Enabling strategies of this sort are designed almost exclusively to help diverse groups
adjust to what will be new and very different environments. The educators who use them
generally take for granted that it will be these families and not the school that must change;
diverse community groups are expected to acclimatize themselves to practices that do not
include their own. While some schools may make valiant efforts to include the languages,
cultures, values and knowledge of the respective community groups in the content and
process of schooling no guarantee can be made that any of this will occur. So if school
knowledge is to be consistently inclusive in ways that empowerment advocates would
recommend, power relationships cannot exclusively favor an (Anglo-European based)
school system. Rather, these power relationships must make it possible for community
groups to make decisions that will allow school knowledge to be inclusive. If schools are
to pay more than lip service to the idea of inclusion, then these groups need to be genuinely
empowered.

Unfortunately, recent research indicates that the participation of parents in

governance does not necessarily ensure inclusion or that marginalized students will
succeed. Studies of school councils in Chicago (Lewis & Nakagawa, 1995), Ontario
(Leithwood et. al., 1999) and the United Kingdom (Hatcher , Troyna, & Gewirtz, 1996),
illustrate that even in situations where parent councils have power over finances, school
programs and personnel, relationships between community and schools have not changed
all that much (Lewis & Nakagawa, 1995), and student achievement gains are inconsistent
at best (Hess, 1999; Shipps, Kahne & Smylie, 1999). Local community management
generally has floundered in three areas – participation on school councils, power on the
school councils and the relationship of governance to teaching and learning.

School councils tend to be populated and dominated by Anglo and middle class
parents and even when “minority” parents do participate, they often have difficulty with the
group interaction (Chambers, 2001; Delgado-Gaitan, 1991; Delhi, 1994; Hatcher et. al.,
1996). In the United Kingdom, this happens because “minority” parents are not part of the
influential informal parent, business, political and educational networks that generally
place individuals on the councils. Asian parents, for example, do not participate on school
councils because they lack confidence in their language abilities and in their ability to
interact in the white-dominated formal environment of the school. Work commitments and
the reluctance of women to go on their own also account for this low turnout. But even
when “minority” parents do participate, they often find that they are unable to penetrate the
language and forms of interaction that councils generally adopt (Hatcher et. al.,1996).

Those with little experience of formal meetings, like many minoritized, working
class, and immigrant parents, have difficulty with the procedures of chaired meetings
(Delhi, 1994; Hatcher et. al., 1996) and with “middle class proceduralism” (Lewis &
Nakagawa, 1995). Not only do many of these parents have to struggle with language
barriers, but they also have difficulty with the peculiar types of interaction that this setting
engenders and with the informal types of talking that go on. These incongruencies
routinely obstruct the voices of parents and block or filter issues of race (Hatcher et. al.,
1996). One Philadelphia council member expresses his frustration with the process by
saying that

Due to the fact that the participants of the Governance Council are from a
very specific situation – all are teachers/administrators, are from the same
school, and have been oriented through the years to a particular system and
culture – the language, thinking and dialogue left me always playing catch
up ball with such important subjects as meaning of words and concepts,
philosophy of education, and contextual questions that relate [to this high
school]. This promotes a high level of frustration. (Fine, 1993, p. 468).

While parents – particularly minoritized and working class parents – generally do not
have the resources or skills to influence governance situations, principals do. Principals have
demonstrated a remarkable capacity to either derail community-dominated councils in order to
retain decision-making control for themselves or ensure council effectiveness (Dehli, 1994;
Hess, 1995; Leithwood et. al., 1999; Malen & Ogawa in Bacharach, 1992). On the positive
side, they can help create participatory decision-making structures and foster collaborative work
among council members (Odden & Wohlsletter, 1995), clearly define goals and roles for
parents and for the council, and act as an information provider, motivator, and friend of the
council. On the other hand, principals’ unique access to information, their positional power,
their ability to use abstract language to talk about educational issues, and to set meeting agendas
make it possible for them to smother or exclude individuals and initiatives that do not meet with
their approval.1 Even when parents do attempt to speak out their efforts may be undermined.
Hyacinth, a mother, community liaison work and educator in the African-Caribbean community
in this urban environment says that

In my school the principal is so dominant that the other poor parents are afraid to
speak up. When they do, he speaks in jargon so we can’t understand, or ignores
us. Because I speak up, they (the principal, vice-principal, and one teacher) gang
up on me, or “forget” to tell me when the next meeting is to occur. I find that I
have to look on the bulletin boards and call other parents to find out where the
meeting is – and I was elected to be part of the council; the other parents don’t
have much of a voice at all. (Dei & James, 2002, p. 77).

Despite these obstacles, a few schools like La Escuela Fratney in Milwaukee, have
made attempts to overcome these power imbalances (Peterson, 1999). While schools like
La Escuela Fratney have attained a measure of success, they still face many obstacles in
making education a truly equitable and inclusive enterprise. In some respects,
decentralization has masked rather than resolved issues of race and class in inclusive
policies by using the idea of inclusion to give the appearance of change without much
resource redistribution; Whites maintain their hegemony, while Blacks maintain their
“control” of the public schools. This continuing relationship has made it difficult for
parents to assume a role in governance that they neither wanted nor were prepared for. In
addition to this, decentralization has not had a noticeable impact on student achievement
(Hess, 1999; Shipps et. al., 1999).

Changes in the relationship between schools and communities will also require
changes in society generally. Not only should parents organize and schools and
communities be restructured to work towards democracies of difference (Fine, 1993), but
everyone needs to work to develop conditions of life that facilitate these inclusive
practices. In order to achieve this end, parents, community members and educators have to
work together. Parents should not be saddled with running schools, nor should they be
subordinated to the existing structure. Instead, a model needs to be developed that allows
for parents and educators to collaborate in certain parts of children’s education (Lewis &
Nakagawa, 1995). This involvement, however, should not be mandated; rather, policy
should merely set the stage for parents and schools to work together. Moreover, this
collaboration needs to make children’s learning a priority. In this regard, it ought to
acknowledge the necessity of finding ways to accommodate both professional and
nonprofessional commitment and expertise.
 Long-term improvement in student achievement will require the development of the
capacity of professional educators because constraints on the exercise of these capacities
will inevitably limit the improvement in student learning opportunities (Shipps et. al.,
1999). But practices geared to improve the professional expertise and commitment of
educators cannot be exclusive, as they have traditionally tended to be. Rather, professional
teaching practice needs to be inclusive; it must incorporate a range of diverse community
knowledge, practices and values. In order to ensure that this happens, parents and
community members have to play some part in collaborative governance arrangements.
Only in this manner can parents, community members and educators expect to improve
learning for all students, and to address and alleviate the inequalities that have plagued
educational institutions and the conditions of life generally.

The literature in the area of community inclusion provides a number of useful ideas.
First, it recognizes the value of including parents in the operation of schools. Parents have
much to offer schools and they need to have meaningful opportunities to make these
contributions. But their participation needs to go beyond mere enablement roles. For their
voices to be heard and their perspectives to be fairly represented in both governance and
the curriculum, they need also to be genuinely empowered. Getting parents involved in
influence processes, however, is not always easy, particularly in the case of immigrant,
minoritized and working class parents. Because some members of these groups tend to shy
away from governance roles, school councils are usually composed of members of the
majority culture. For community inclusion to work, school communities have to work
together to insure that everyone has the opportunity to either participate or be fairly
represented in governance processes.

Second, even when members of marginalized groups do participate, they frequently

find themselves at a disadvantage. They cannot always influence decisions because they
may find it difficult to penetrate the language that people use and the procedures that
meetings regularly adopt. People may be excluded from influence (leadership) processes
for reasons other than those relating to traditional organizational and bureaucratic
hierarchies. They are regularly excluded by barriers associated with class, ethnicity, gender
and so on. The sooner that schools and educators recognize this, the sooner they can work
to address this issue.

Third, parent, student and teacher inclusion in governance and influence processes
will mean very little if such participation does not at some point find its way into the
classroom. Schooling is fundamentally about student learning, and the way in which
schools are organized will mean little if at some point this organization does not have an
impact on student learning.

Leadership and the Inclusion of Differently-Abled Students

The research in the area of leadership and differently-abled students is both similar
to, and different from, the view of inclusive leadership that I am advocating. It resembles
the latter in the way that it emphasizes the end-values of the leadership process. All of the
literature in this area promotes a view of leadership that aims to include all students in the
process of formal education. This view of inclusion, however, is more acutely focused than
the general view of inclusion that I favor. It emphasizes primarily the prospects of
differently-abled students rather than all marginalized students. On the other hand, this
view of leadership also highlights the process of leadership. In doing so, though, this
largely empirically-based body of research promotes a very diverse set of approaches to
leadership. While some of these views are inclusive, others are decidedly exclusive.
Despite these inconsistencies, this body of literature has much to offer, particularly with
regard to the strategies for pursuing the end-values of leadership.

This view of leadership is part of a movement that seeks to include differently-abled

students in regular schools and classrooms. Originating in Scandinavia and known by
different names such as mainstreaming and integration, it advocates that these students
should not be segregated from their peers. Instead, its central principle is that special needs
students should be integrated into regular classrooms in their local schools (Thomas, 1997).
Proponents believe that inclusion should be pursued because differently-abled students
have more to gain from being educated with regular students than they do in segregated
environments (Thomas, 1997; Bailey & du Plessis, 1997), all students have a right to be
educated in regular school settings (Thomas, 1997; Bailey & du Plessis, 1997) and peers,
the school community and society benefit from these arrangements (Bailey & du Plessis,
1997).

Leadership is the key to successful inclusion programs (Doyle, 2002; Ingram, 1997;
Bailey & du Plessis, 1997; Keys, Hanley-Maxwell, & Capper, 1999; Guzman, 1997),
(Thomas, 1997). It can address the many challenges that educators face in inclusive
environments such as the extra and sometimes extraordinary efforts required of educators
(Ingram, Mayrowetz, & Weinstein, 1999; Thomas, 1997). Educators have to deal with
changes in instructional techniques and classroom routines, additional planning efforts and
time, accommodating adults in the classroom and training in the use of medical equipment
(Ingram, 1997). They also have to regularly cope with a lack of human and physical
resources, and a lack of training and support (Baily & du Plessis, 1997).

Leadership is also needed to deal with negative attitudes toward inclusion.

Resistance to inclusion is common. Teachers who are not special education specialists tend
to oppose inclusion (Boucher, 1981; Ingram, 1997; Rizzo, 1984). Many believe that they
are not prepared to receive these students and that inclusive environments will bring on
extra work and stress for them (Bailey & du Plessis, 1997; Ingram, 1997). But teachers are
not the only ones who do not support inclusion. Administrators are sometimes hesitant to
embrace it (Bailey & du Plessis, 1997; Doyle, 2002). And even when they do endorse the
principle of inclusion, their support is often qualified. Most principals are pragmatic, and
given the opportunity, they will evaluate students on a case-by-case basis, even when they
express support for inclusion (Bailey & du Plessis, 1997). This is significant because the
success or failure of inclusion efforts in schools will depend, to some extent, on the beliefs
and actions of administrators (Doyle, 2002; Guzman, 1997).
 Leadership practices for the inclusion of the differently-abled champion the
attainment of inclusion. They revolve exclusively around efforts to mobilize support for
inclusion, implement inclusive practices and monitor efforts. Given the challenges of, and
resistance to, inclusion, however, much text is devoted to garnering support for it. The
recommended leadership approaches for attaining this goal vary. They range from
transformational, individualistic practices to emancipatory, collective processes.
Researchers who favor transformational leadership do so because they believe the
behaviors associated with it represent the best chance of marshalling support for inclusive
ideals and practices. More specifically, they feel that charismatic leaders stand the best
chance of motivating teachers to go beyond the call of duty, which in this case would
include supporting inclusion and doing the extra things that need to be done in inclusive
classrooms (Ingram, 1997). Emancipatory proponents, on the other hand, maintain that
support for inclusion can only come through dialogue and inquiry over a period of time
(Doyle, 2002).

Regardless of philosophy or allegiance, the literature has many suggestions for

garnering support for inclusion. These include

• Making inclusion a non-negotiable option (Keys et. al., 1999);

• Sharing with others the theoretical, ethical and research-based rationales for inclusive
education (Thousand & Villa, 1994);
• Involving school and community stakeholder groups in formulating objectives for
supporting all students (Thousand & Villa, 1994); and
• Creating cognitive dissonance, discomfort and a sense of urgency (Thousand & Villa,
1994).

The research indicates that educators need to believe in inclusion for it to succeed in
schools. But this in and of itself is not enough. Leadership practices also have to entrench
this belief and the related practices in the culture and structure of schools (Doyle, 2002;
Keys, 1999; Mayrowetz et. al., 1999; Thousand & Villa, 1994). Ideally, schools need to
develop a culture and esprit de corps that embraces the values and practices of inclusive
education (Thousand & Villa, 1994). In order to do this, teachers need support in the form
of physical and human resources, which includes support for critique, for making their own
decisions, for solving their own problems and for taking risks (Keys et. al., 1999).
Teachers and administrators must be provided with in-service programs that address issues
in conflict resolution, staffing management, problem solving, collaborative decision-
making, student discipline, relationships with parents and instruction and curriculum in
inclusive environments (Guzman, 1997). Finally, inclusive practices need to be monitored
(Mayrowetz et. al., 1999).

Research in this area has provided much useful information about leadership and
inclusion. Like other approaches, though, it has its drawbacks. For example, researchers in
the area promote a variety of very different and often inconsistent approaches to leadership
processes. Some are compatible with inclusion, but others are not. The most valuable
contribution of this area to inclusive leadership is in the area of the end-values of
leadership. Researchers in this area are preoccupied with achieving particular goals, and
they believe that leadership efforts are key to attaining them. These ends, however, are
somewhat narrow, directly as they are toward the differently-abled. Even so, those
interested in promoting more general inclusive ends have much to learn from the manner in
which these goals are emphasized and pursued. On the other hand, proponents of a more
general approach to inclusion have to acknowledge the inevitable resistance to inclusion.
Many will oppose inclusive gender, class and anti-racism initiatives. But this resistance
will come not just from overtly sexist, racist and homophobic individuals. It will also come
from supporters of gender, class and race rights who take for granted the subtle privileges
that they enjoy from their membership in certain groups. So it is important for leadership
processes to acknowledge this resistance and to find ways to advocate for inclusive ideals
and practices.

Understanding and Promoting Inclusive Leadership

Meaningful pursuit of inclusive leadership practices requires that academics and

practitioners attend to both the process and the ends of leadership. There is little point in
promoting an inclusive process if it does not at the same time value inclusion and social
justice generally. The literature on inclusive leadership has been useful in sketching out
what this view of inclusive leadership should look like and in providing suggestions about
how interested parties might proceed in promoting and implementing it. Most importantly,
it gives us an idea of how leadership arrangements might be organized and implemented
and how they might work for inclusion generally. Among other things, those interested in
putting inclusive leadership into practice need to consider how they can: 1) view
leadership as an equitable collective process rather than in terms of individuals who are
hierarchically distinct from others; 2) include teachers, students and parents in school
processes; 3) advocate for inclusion and for excluded individuals and groups; 4) educate
the entire school community; 5) develop critical consciousness in the school community; 6)
promote dialogue; 7) emphasize student learning; 8) adopt inclusive decision- and policy-
making processes and 9) incorporate whole school approaches to inclusion.

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