Last month NJ Education Report covered the story of six-year-old Cole, a child with autism who lives in Cherry Hill who, his parents say (with photo documentation to back them up) was physically abused and placed in inappropriate settings in order for the district to capitalize on his classification by squeezing more money from the state.  Since the publication of this article, several other Cherry Hill parents of students with disabilities have reached out. According to these parents—who concur with Cole’s family that the district places children in more restrictive settings for financial gain — what happened to Cole isn’t an exception but the rule. “Cherry Hill administered special education with a flagrant disregard of the law,” one mother told me. “It’s a pandemic, a cultural norm. This is what’s happening to families.” A grandmother of a classified student told me, “I do believe this is all about the money. How many parents and children have been traumatized?”

Indeed, according to the U.S. Education Department’s Office of Civil Rights (OCR), over the last 14 months there have been four complaints against Cherry Hill Public Schools’ treatment of students with disabilities, two listed as “Denial of Benefits,” one as “Harassment,” and one as “Discipline.” These claims have yet to be adjudicated.

Let’s look at another family who has a young daughter—we’ll call her “Mia” because her parents want to protect her privacy—who thrived in her previous district where she was classified for special education services with a communication impairment, some learning delays, and a possible diagnosis of autism spectrum disorder. Mia’s Individualized Education Plan (IEP) specified she receive speech therapy three times a week, be placed in a general education classroom with an aide, and have access to a resource room. With these supports she was doing grade-level work,

That all changed when the family moved to Cherry Hill.   Like Cole’s parents, Mia’s parents believe Cherry Hill’s special education administrators are “turning her into a dollar sign,” i.e., placing her in a self-contained classroom because the district receives extra money—as much as $70,000 per year— from the state.

When Mia first enrolled in Cherry Hill last year, the district was required, per state regulations,  to implement her IEP from her former district and ensure she receive her accommodations, supports, and therapies. According to special education law, if a new district wants to make changes they first must do a series of assessments justifying the changes and get approval from the entire Child Study Team, which includes the student’s parents or guardians. Therefore Mia’s parents assumed she’d be placed, as she had in her former district, in an inclusion or general education classroom and receive all her  mandated services. Such a placement would also align with federal and state law that says students with disabilities must be educated in the “least restrictive environment.”

Instead, without any notification, her parents told me, Cherry Hill placed Mia in a self-contained classroom for students with autism— a far more restrictive environment than her original placement—-completely disregarding her IEP and special education law. When they expressed concern, the district’s Director of Special Education Trina Ragsdale told them,“It’s my decision. You have no say in the matter. You have no choice.” During an Open House for the self-contained classroom, Mia’s mom noticed that the other students in the class were largely non-verbal and just earning their ABC’s while Mia was verbal and reading at grade-level. The teacher, she told me, had no plans to differentiate instruction to accommodate Mia’s needs

Mia’s mother went home and wondered to her husband, “do we have to homeschool her?” But they agreed this would be detrimental to Mia’s psychological health—after socializing with neuro-typical peers in her previous district she had blossomed in her friendliness, kindness, and empathy— and they worried she might start regressing.

But over the next  month Mia became “very anxious. She knew things weren’t right,” said her father.

When Mia’s parents had their IEP meeting with Cherry Hill’s Child Study Team, they brought a special education advocate, who confirmed the district wasn’t following required procedures. (Before the meeting they also consulted with a lawyer.) That day they discovered that Mia hadn’t been getting her speech therapy and wouldn’t get those mandated services until the end of January, months away. “We’re short-staffed,” Ragsdale declared, even though staffing is not a legal excuse for denial of services.

What about the parents being the most important part of the Child Study Team, I asked? “We’ve never been made part of the team,” her parents said. “They’ve never asked our opinion and we’ve been dictated to the entire time Mia has been enrolled in Cherry Hill. When we push back, they ignore us. It’s like talking to petulant toddlers with fingers in their ears.  They act like they own her.”

Mia’s parents got in touch with Caitlin Mallory, Cherry Hill’s Supervisor of Special Education (Ragdale’s superior), who had no idea any of this was going on and suggested they go to mediation, the use of a third-party to resolve disputes.  They represented themselves—”we don’t have money for a lawyer,” they explained—and the matter was quickly resolved: The mediator ordered Cherry Hill to place Mia in an inclusion room, a decision that was a relief to Mia’s parents who assumed their daughter’s rights would be protected for the future.

Yet, two weeks later at Mia’s annual review, some of the Child Study Team members claimed Mia was “dangerous,” that she was “flipping over the monkey bars,” that she couldn’t keep up with the class, and that she would have to go back to a restrictive self-contained classroom. Director Mallory’s “whole attitude was one of retaliation because we pushed back,” Mia’s father said, even though Mia’s teachers and speech therapist confirmed she was making good progress. He told the Team, “you don’t have our daughter’s best interests in mind.”

Again they went to mediation, where they explained to the mediator,“they’re trying to squash our child. They are violating her civil rights!” The district backed down and Mia stayed in the inclusion classroom. 

I asked them if they’d contacted the school board or other administrators. “We get nowhere,” Mia’s parents said. “It’s as if they’re taking an exceedingly painful situation and trying to make it excruciating. They’re trying to wear us down, twist the knife, create new obstacles. They just want to warehouse our children in order to get a bigger check from the state, even if this inflicts psychological abuse.”

“What is happening to us is happening to other families,” they concluded. “It has to stop.”

NJ Education Report has asked Cherry Hill Public Schools District for comment. If the district replies we will update this article.