The Crisis in the Classroom by Dave Clements sampler

DAVE CLEMENTS has worked for three decades in local government
and the public sector. He has also written for various
publications including The Guardian and Huffington Post, and
is co-editor of The Future of Community (Pluto Press, 2008).
His latest work can be found at daveclements.org
Amidst a tsunami of rocketing demand for special needs
support, Clements’ sobering, thought-provoking book charts
the rise of an educational and social crisis, the cultural and
political forces driving it and the huge task facing those who
want to deal with it.
Kathryn Ecclestone, Retired Professor of Education, University of
Sheffield, and co-author of The Dangerous Rise of Therapeutic Education
A sensible and sensitive discussion of the culture war over
autism and ADHD, and its consequences for parents, teachers,
and children with special educational needs.
Jennie Bristow, co-author of Growing Up in the Culture Wars

The Crisis in the Classroom
How the special needs explosion
is destroying education
DAVE CLEMENTS

First published 2026
isbn: 978-1-80425-280-2
The author’s right to be identified as author of this book
under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
has been asserted.
This book is made of materials from well-managed,
FSC®-certified forests and other controlled sources.
Printed and bound by
Ashford Colour Ltd., Gosport
Typeset in 11 point Sabon by
Main Point Books, Edinburgh
© Dave Clements 2026

For Darragh, Cormac & Aoibhín

Contents
Acknowledgements 9
Foreword 11
Preface 15
1 Are they making it up? 21
2 Do we know what normal is? 42
3 What’s so special about special educational needs? 64
4 Beyond the school gates 85
5 What are schools for? 121
6 We can’t go on like this 148
Postscript 167
Support and Advice 170
Endnotes 171
7

Acknowledgements
Thank you to the teachers, parents and others working with
affected children who agreed to speak with me, including
Justine Brian, David Perks, Neil Davenport, Ellie Lee and those
I met at the Academy of Ideas Education Forum, where I first
set out the ideas explored in this book.
Also, thanks to Ken McLaughlin, Rita McLaughlin and
Baroness Claire Fox of Buckley for their encouragement, criticism
and invaluable feedback on early drafts. And to Kevin
Rooney, whose idea this was.
Last of all, thanks to my family, who unknowingly inspired
me to write it.
9

Foreword
In November 2025, the BBC reported that in many areas of
England specialist services for adults suffering from attention
deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD) were stopping taking on
new patients or introducing tighter eligibility criteria as they
struggle to cope with the demand for assessments and the provision
of appropriate support. 1 According to the taskforce set
up by NHS England in March 2024 in response to the sharp
increase in referrals, assessments, diagnoses and treatments for
the condition, ADHD is said to affect 5% of children, and 3–4%
of adults are under-diagnosed and under-treated. It called for
more joint working across health, education and the criminal
justice system to identify people with ADHD.
In the opening chapter of this book, Dave Clements notes
how many celebrities have gone public about being diagnosed
with ADHD in later life, a relatively new phenomenon as this
was a diagnosis almost exclusively given to children. However,
as the title of the book suggests, Clements’ focus is on the crisis
in our schools. Few would disagree that the education system
is failing children with special educational needs, with many
unable to get an assessment and/or an appropriate service
following a diagnosis.
However, what if rather than being under-diagnosed the
opposite is the case? Could it be that ADHD and autism are
being over-diagnosed and over-treated? Perhaps it is both at
once, with many people who require help being unable to
access it, whilst many others are drawn into a system in which
the blurring of categories leads them to view their problems
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The Crisis in the Classroom
through the prism of a mental disorder.
We are in a period where there is a tendency to blur boundaries,
or abolish them altogether, whether that is in relation to mental
health, disability (whether physical or learning), neurodiversity
or sex and gender, to name but a few. The concept of ‘normal’
has been questioned and to maintain any distinction can lead
to accusations of prejudice or discrimination, and diminishing
the humanity and worth of those on the other side of the divide.
These are some of the issues Clements interrogates in this
very timely and necessary book, not only in relation to ADHD
but also autism, Asperger’s Syndrome and many other contemporary
diagnoses.
As the father of a child with a diagnosis of autism, he is well
aware of the difficulties the condition can cause; and also the
frustration of trying to access the necessary support to help children
as they navigate life in general and education in particular.
Clements charts the rise in the number of children with special
educational needs and the implications that arise from this
for such children, schools, teachers, parents and also those children
without these needs. However, in doing so he locates the
‘crisis in the classroom’ within the adult world, where political,
cultural, economic and theoretical factors have coalesced in
ways that are not always helpful for children or adults.
In asking ‘what’s so special about special educational needs’,
the focus of Chapter 3, he is pointing to the problem of diagnostic
expansion; if everyone has ‘special needs’ they are hardly
‘special’ in the way intended. This chapter follows an exploration
of what we consider as ‘normal’ today and, given the
wider cultural influences within contemporary society, raises
the question of whether we even know what it is. Where do
we draw the line between the naughty child and the one with
a mental disorder? Are we increasingly medicalising more and
12

Foreword
more aspects of life? At a time when we are increasingly reluctant
to declare things unequivocally bad, perhaps we find it
easier to use the vocabulary of psychiatry.
The questioning of boundaries has had many positive developments.
After all, they are often used to dehumanise those on
the wrong side of the divide. All too often, societal prejudices
and political expediency have led to the horrendous treatment
and segregation of certain groups, from the forced treatment
and sterilisation of the mentally and physically disabled, to
segregation from society in long-stay institutions.
Nevertheless, the collapse of boundaries is not without its
problems. As Clements details, we need to have some distinction,
however arbitrary and subject to question and change, if
we are to differentiate between those who need help, at whatever
level. Whether that is 24-hour residential care, home or community
support, specialist resources within a school, a separate
school or a teaching assistant within the mainstream classroom.
All too often, as many parents know, the much-needed help they
and their children require is lacking or inadequate.
In detailing the problems children, their parents and schools
are facing, Clements at times paints a gloomy picture of the
current situation. However, at heart this is an optimistic book.
Understanding the problem – and how we got into the situation
we are in – is essential if we are to change things for the
better. As such, this is an invaluable book for those of us who
are concerned with the current situation, and who wish to
challenge and change a failing system.
Ken McLaughlin
(Ken McLaughlin is a writer, academic and former mental health social worker based
in Manchester. He is the author of Surviving Identity: Vulnerability and the psychology
of recognition and Stigma, and its discontents.)
13

Preface
In May 2021, at the age of eight – and a year and a half after
he was first referred to the Child and Adolescent Mental Health
Service (CAMHS) – my son was diagnosed with autism spectrum
disorder (ASD) and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder
(ADHD). I don’t mind admitting that I was reluctant at first to
accept the diagnosis. I was a longstanding sceptic about such
things. I’ve written critically in The Guardian and elsewhere
about the rise of behavioural disorders and the expansion
of mental health problems in schools. I argued that normal
childhood experiences were being labelled as something else
or turned into psychological conditions. As I said at the time:
What would have once been put down to a child being
naughty is today turned into a need, and grounds for
potential psychological or even psychiatric intervention. 2
I wasn’t wholly dismissive. I conceded that there were young
people facing real problems and that the system was letting
them down. I even anticipated, in the same Guardian piece,
what my own family would soon experience:
Young people are typically waiting months and even
years for treatment by their local CAMHS.
Nevertheless, I was a strident critic of what I saw as a tendency
to medicalise children’s struggles and behavioural problems.
Since becoming a father, I have been confronted with the
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The Crisis in the Classroom
reality of raising a ‘neurodiverse’ child. I now understand,
all too well, the challenges that a child with these conditions
can face; and how families can struggle to support them.
I know first-hand how difficult it can be raising a child with these
‘additional’ needs. I know what it’s like trying to negotiate the
system set up to meet their needs – but badly failing to do so.
Have I been made to eat my words? I’ll let you be the judge
of that. But I won’t have much more to say about myself or
my son. This is not a book about my ‘lived experience’. It
is impossible to do justice to the spectrum of needs associated
with autism. I’m not convinced my story – or anybody
else’s for that matter – holds any great authority or interest, or
necessarily offers any great insights. If anything, the reality of
raising a child with a neurodevelopmental condition or with a
special educational need is a good grounding against the dubious
claims of industry ideologues and self-appointed experts.
It is, nevertheless, my assumption that the experience of most
other parents of children with ‘additional needs’ is unlikely to
be vastly different from my own. I assume they too will have
faced a struggle to understand what’s going on with their child
and may have only reluctantly come to accept that there is a
problem. Perhaps this is changing, and more people feel the
cultural pull of ‘identifying’ with being the parents of a neurodiverse
child. Maybe their children hear about it at school,
from teachers or from their neurodiverse friends, and take on
this new identity themselves. I still think most parents do what
they do out of a concern for their kids’ welfare or happiness,
and would find it perverse to wish a disorder or a disability
upon their child.
At the same time, I can’t help but notice that there is something
else going on with our kids, too. Something that suggests
to me that what we’re looking at isn’t just a special educational
16

Preface
needs problem. Nor is it just the ‘neurodiverse’ kids who are
struggling. Other kids are apparently struggling too. The same
language is used to describe these other children. They too
get ‘dysregulated’ or experience ‘sensory issues’. Behaviour
problems, school exclusions and mental health issues are widespread.
There’s the popularity of fidget spinners and the kids
wandering around wearing their noise-cancelling headphones.
The record numbers of pupils being labelled as ‘neurodiverse,’
more children described as having special educational
needs, displaying poor behaviour, struggling with anxiety or
failing to attend school, they all appear to be on a spectrum
of sorts. These maladies all seem to have hit at once. There’s a
rush of diagnoses and referrals. Why are more people, children
and adults alike, claiming benefits for these sorts of conditions?
How is it possible that so many have acquired them or
been deemed in need of support, in greater numbers than ever
before? And all at the same time? Are they making it up?
These are the questions that I have been grappling with.
And yet, despite my ongoing doubts about a lot of what I
hear, I don’t doubt my son’s autism. He doesn’t identify with
autism. He is autistic. It runs through him like a stick of rock.
It isn’t something that he puts on like a new pair of shoes. It is
a part of who he is. So, what’s going on? This book is about
what I describe as a ‘needs explosion’ making itself felt in the
classroom and beyond. It’s about the rise of special educational
needs but also the sense that schools and society more widely
are struggling to cope with the various issues young people
face today.
While I hope to indicate some likely contributors to the
needs crisis, the book is less about providing answers than it
is about posing uncomfortable questions about what is really
going on. I ask, if these needs really are so ‘special’ why do
17

The Crisis in the Classroom
so many children seem to have them and why are so many of
their peers struggling too? Is it to do with lockdown or social
media, as some academics, policy-makers and commentators
argue? Or are we just naming needs and conditions that have
always existed, but we are only now recognising as such? Is
it a cultural contagion, perhaps, as others claim? Or does it
reflect ‘real’ problems out there in the community? Deeper,
more ingrained, social problems that we avoid talking about
or tackling?
Whatever the causes, as a former governor at a small primary
school with a high proportion of children with special
educational needs, I understand the struggles schools have trying
to accommodate these children’s needs, while also dealing
with the disruption this can mean for other children’s learning.
What’s it like to teach these children? What is the impact on the
quality of learning? While I’ve spoken to a number of teachers,
and their insights and experiences feature here, I was struck by
their reluctance to speak publicly.
At the time of writing, with speculation building about
the government’s review of the special educational needs and
disabilities (or SEND) system, I am hoping that – whatever is
proposed – it will perhaps present an opportunity for teachers
to speak out about the difficulties they face in trying to
accommodate these and other needs. I also hope this book
stimulates a wider, more thorough-going public conversation
with parents, teachers and anyone else concerned about the
implications of this explosion of needs.
This ‘anyone else’ is important because the discussion needs
to involve all of us, whether or not our children are neurodiverse
or have special educational needs. This isn’t just a
technical or legal discussion about diagnoses and entitlements.
All of our children’s education and welfare are implicated in
18

Preface
the way we make sense of and respond to a needs explosion
that goes beyond SEND. While I offer up my own thoughts on
where we are currently going wrong and on the underlying
problems, I don’t claim to have all the answers. We all need
to play our part in working them out. So, what is behind the
crisis in the classroom? How do we, as a society, better support
those children who need it, both for their sake and for the sake
of all our children?
19

1
Are they making it up?
Everyone’s interesting now ain’t they? Everyone’s bipolar,
transgender, oh I’ve got an intolerance, I’ve got an allergy,
I’ve got a syndrome, I’m so f***ing interesting.
I’m just a bloke.—Micky Flanagan 3
When the journalist Brendan O’Neill wrote a provocative
article – ‘You don’t have ADHD – you’re just annoying’ – he
was only saying out loud what many are thinking. The piece
was prompted by a string of celebrities who had recently – and
very publicly – discovered they have ADHD. O’Neill was having
none of it. The rest of us ‘don’t doll up our maddening foibles
as a neurodevelopmental disorder requiring medical treatment,’
he protested. O’Neill went on to suggest some public figures,
such as TV chef and dyslexia campaigner Jamie Oliver and
left-wing political commentator Owen Jones, had just found
the ultimate excuse to be ‘ill rather than irritating.’ 4 You might
think such accusations of ‘faking it’ are too cynical, but there
is undoubtedly a trend for increasing numbers of celebrities to
go public about their ‘neurodiverse’ conditions.
Jimmy White, generally regarded as the greatest snooker
player never to win the World Championship (despite reaching
the final six times) was recently diagnosed with ADHD. ‘It’s
completely changed my life,’ he told Stephen Hendry (who
won seven world titles in his playing career). ‘It’s brilliant,’ said
White, referring to the medication he is prescribed. ‘Looking
back, all these thoughts were going through my mind, and
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The Crisis in the Classroom
all of a sudden I’m starting to miss everything.’ Those of us
who remember watching White play will remember him as
an exciting player, albeit struggling with addictions. And his
safety game was lacking. How much of his failure to win the
greatest prize was down to ADHD, and how much to alleged
off-the-table indulgences? How much was this a consequence
of the way he played the game? 5
Shaun Ryder, formerly of the Happy Mondays and more
recently a runner up in ITV reality show I’m A Celebrity… Get
Me Out of Here!, was known for his various appetites back in
the ‘Madchester’ music scene of the 1990s. He too has recently
spoken about his ADHD diagnosis later in life. Asked what
it meant to him, he said: ‘it just answered a lot of questions
really,’ such as ‘why I was up to promiscuous behaviour.’ 6
You come across a lot of these accounts, where people in the
public eye who are not known for their clean living, or who
are famous for their struggles, go on to reinterpret their life up
until that point through the prism of their diagnosis.
While this may be legitimate for some, might it also not look
a lot like reading one’s biography backwards? The medications
typically prescribed for ADHD are stimulants – as are the drugs
of choice (the amphetamines and cocaine), sometimes in industrial
quantities, of many a rock star or celebrity. In a feature
for The Times – ‘Do I have ADHD? Might explain the drugs,
chaos and oversharing’ – author Kate Spicer describes a chance
encounter with a friend’s medication commonly prescribed for
ADHD: methylphenidate. It did wonders for her ‘scattered and
chaotic mind.’ While Spicer, after years of therapy, still only
suspects she has the condition, it is striking how the piece ends:
‘But I would love to be able to say to myself, and believe it for
once, “Kate, it’s OK. It’s not your fault.”’ 7
Is that the attraction of a diagnosis? While it undoubtedly
22

Are they making it up?
offers a degree of hope or an answer for those genuinely struggling,
might it also relieve people of responsibility for who
and what they are, or for the mistakes they make? Is it the
cheap chemical hit they’re after? Or is it just a way of bringing
attention to oneself? You certainly don’t have to look very hard
to find some star – particularly a fading star or one whose
fame would otherwise be all the more fleeting – keen to spread
‘awareness’ of their diagnosis. Darren Day, star of the West
End and a contestant in the first series of I’m A Celebrity…
Get Me Out of Here!, recently took to the nation’s early morning
television screens to tell us all about his ADHD diagnosis.
Referring to the medication he was prescribed for his newly
acquired condition, he explained what a revelation it had been.
‘It’s changed my life,’ he told ITV’s Good Morning Britain, ‘my
head was quiet for the first time in 20 years.’ 8
Following his dual-diagnosis in 2023, Sam Thompson – former
Made in Chelsea reality star – became ambassador for
ADHD UK. He describes ADHD as his ‘superpower’. According
to Thompson, who went one better than Day in winning I’m
A Celebrity… Get Me Out of Here!:
I want to reach as many people as I possibly can,
especially young people, and show there is such magic
in being neurodiverse.
But if being neurodiverse is so filled with ‘magic’ and ‘superpowers’,
is it unreasonable to ask why those diagnosed with
these conditions need any help or treatment at all? Perhaps
comments like these are motivated by an urge to accentuate the
positive, but these enthusiastic accounts of the talents that some
possess can only grate with those who well understand that
neurodiversity has its less sunny aspects too. If having autism
23

The Crisis in the Classroom
and ADHD is so apparently wonderful, what’s the big deal?
Of course, says Thompson, there are ‘challenges’ and during
his stint in the jungle, he tells the Daily Mail, he wasn’t
ashamed of his diagnoses. And nor should he have been. But
Thompson does, like a number of newly neurodiverse celebrities,
seem unduly proud of his neurodevelopmental disorder.
Apparently even more proud than he is of his new mullet haircut,
comment upon which takes up far too many paragraphs
in the same gushing feature celebrating his neurodiversity. 9
The youngsters are ensuring that popular culture is saturated
in hyperactive and disorderly neuro-talk. Kae (formerly Kate)
Tempest, a post-surgery, non-binary, spoken word performer,
released a song in the summer of 2025 called ‘Diagnoses’, in
which they brightly run through the mental disorders and
associated acronyms with which we have all, by now, become
familiar. But, Kae declares, it’s the rest of us with the problem
– not those to whom these labels are attached. Lola Young,
a rising UK singer, also released a song – ‘Messy’ – about her
chaotic, ADHD life while I was writing this book. As Young
tells it, the track is ‘about the complexities of how I feel about
myself.’ She runs through her struggles in the song which has,
as the kids say, gone viral. 10
Something else that has gone viral is the transformation of
the relatively common ‘dual diagnosis’ of autism and ADHD
into what is increasingly being referred to as having AuDHD.
This relatively new term is all the rage amongst the newly
diagnosed:
Desperate to fit in, yet determined to escape social
situations. Obsessively creating complex structures for
stability, but just as predictably smashing them all up.
Chronically overwhelmed, yet unable to say no.
24

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