I lead specialist SEND provision in a resource base attached to a mainstream secondary school. I strongly believe in inclusion. However, working at the point where mainstream and specialist provision meet has made me increasingly question what we actually mean when we use the word. The government’s SEND reforms place significant emphasis on increasing mainstream capacity, alongside the expansion of inclusion bases and changes to education, health and care plans (EHCPs). I support that ambition. But I worry that we risk measuring inclusion by where a child is educated, rather than whether they are genuinely able to participate, learn, develop relationships and thrive. A child can be physically present in a mainstream classroom while being excluded from learning. Equally, specialist provision should not automatically be regarded as exclusionary if it is the environment in which a child can flourish. Who gets to define inclusion? The debate can sometimes become framed as mainstream versus specialist. I don’t think that helps. A strong mainstream school should be able to meet a much wider range of needs. But that does not mean every child should receive all their support in the same classroom, or that specialist provision represents a failure of inclusion. A well-designed resource base can provide specialist teaching and support while maintaining meaningful connections with the wider school community. But a resource base is not simply a room. It needs specialist staff, appropriate environments, curriculum, leadership, time for collaboration and a whole-school understanding of SEND. Most importantly, specialist expertise cannot sit behind the door of the resource base. It needs to be shared across the school. If we expand inclusion bases without investing in the expertise and workforce needed to make them work, we risk creating places rather than provision. EHCP reform raises another question There is a legitimate argument for earlier intervention and better support before children reach the point of requiring an EHCP. But we need to distinguish between reducing the need for an EHCP and reducing SEND need. An EHCP does not create a child’s needs. It provides a statutory framework for identifying those needs and securing specified provision. The proposed individual support plans (ISPs) could be valuable. The government says schools will have a legal duty to create them, setting out a child’s needs and day-to-day support. But that raises a crucial question: What happens when the support recorded in an ISP isn’t provided? A legal duty to create a plan is not necessarily the same as an individual statutory entitlement to specified provision with the same enforceability and routes of challenge as an EHCP. The government needs to be much clearer about this. If responsibility moves from an EHCP to a school-level plan, parents need to know what protections remain when provision isn’t delivered. Otherwise, we risk moving responsibility without moving the accountability that families rely upon. Training matters — but it isn’t enough The government’s investment in SEND training is welcome. Every teacher should have the knowledge and confidence to support pupils with SEND. But there is a difference between being a teacher who understands SEND and being a specialist. We cannot expect training alone to replace specialist teachers, SENCOs, support staff and access to specialist services. If mainstream schools are going to take greater responsibility for SEND, then the capacity to do so has to move with that responsibility. Otherwise, we risk simply transferring pressure from one part of the system to another. Listen to the people experiencing inclusion Perhaps the most important question is also the one we ask least often: What does inclusion feel like for the child? We can measure placement, attendance and progress. But can a child tell us whether they feel they belong? Whether they feel listened to? Whether they can access their learning? Whether adults understand what they need? These questions matter because inclusion is experienced by children, not policymakers. Perhaps inclusion is not a place. Perhaps it is a set of conditions which enable a child to participate, learn and belong. I want the government’s reforms to succeed. I want earlier intervention, stronger mainstream provision, properly supported inclusion bases and better access to specialist expertise. But success cannot simply be measured by how many children attend mainstream schools, how many inclusion bases are created or how many EHCPs are issued. The real test will be what happens on a Monday morning. Does the teacher have the support they need? Does the SENCO have time to lead? Does the resource base have enough specialist staff? Can the school access specialist expertise? And does the child feel that they belong? Perhaps the question we should stop asking is simply: Where is this child being educated? Instead, we should ask: Is this the place, with the right support, in which this child can thrive? Because, if we genuinely want a more inclusive education system, perhaps the people who should have the strongest voice in defining inclusion are the children themselves.