A Question of Timing: Disability, Access, and the Measures of Inclusion

Not every student starts the school day at eight o’clock. For some, it isn’t a matter of sleeping through an alarm, but rather the presence of medical conditions that make an early arrival to school genuinely unfeasible. This was true for a student in Minnesota, whose medical needs conflicted with the structure of a typical school schedule.

She lives with Lennox-Gastaut Syndrome—a rare and severe form of epilepsy that typically begins in early childhood. The condition involves multiple types of seizures, often occurring in clusters, accompanied by learning challenges and unpredictable episodes. In her case, the most intense seizure activity tends to occur in the morning. By afternoon, her condition stabilizes enough to support focused learning.

In response, her family requested that her school district adjust her instructional hours to begin at noon and extend later into the day. Their request was not for less instruction, but for teaching that matched the times when she was most alert and able to engage.

The district declined to implement the change.

That decision is now under review by the U.S. Supreme Court. On Monday, the Court will hear A.J.T. v. Osseo Area Schools—a case that began as a local dispute over educational scheduling but has since expanded in scope. The outcome may carry significant implications for how discrimination is understood under the Americans with Disabilities Act (ADA) and Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act of 1973.

At the heart of the case is a question of legal standards: Must individuals with disabilities demonstrate that an institution acted with “bad faith or gross misjudgment” to pursue a claim under the ADA or Section 504?

To understand what is at stake, it is important to consider the purpose of these laws. Section 504 of the Rehabilitation Act was the first federal statute to prohibit disability-based discrimination by programs receiving federal funding, including public schools.

It requires institutions to adapt their policies or practices when needed to provide equal access. The ADA widened these protections across public and private settings, affirming its commitment to full inclusion for people with disabilities. Neither the ADA nor Section 504 was designed around proving intent. Instead, both were structured to guard against exclusion—whether intentional or unintentional.

In this case, however, the Eighth Circuit Court of Appeals held that because the dispute concerned educational services, the family faced a significantly higher burden of proof. Although the court recognized that the school district had not met its obligations under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA)—a separate statute governing special education—it dismissed the claims under the ADA and Section 504, concluding that the family had failed to show bad faith or gross misjudgment.

This interpretation sets a troubling precedent. It suggests that unless a school district’s failure amounts to intentional harm or serious neglect, students may have no legal options under two of the most important civil rights laws for people with disabilities.

More recently, the school district has broadened its argument. In its brief to the Supreme Court, it claimed that this higher legal standard shouldn’t just apply to education, but to all areas covered by the ADA and Section 504—including housing, employment, healthcare, and transportation. In short, the district argues that unless access is denied in a deliberate and extreme way, there should be no liability.

If this interpretation is adopted, it would weaken federal disability protections. It would shift the focus from whether someone was excluded or denied a reasonable accommodation to whether the institution intended to cause harm. This could make it much harder for people to assert their rights under the law.

This case raises important questions not just about the law, but about how we understand disability, access, and the role of institutions. When the burden shifts to proving intent, it puts legal protection further out of reach for many people with real, ongoing, and well-documented needs.

These laws were designed to open doors—not just in theory, but in practice. They recognize that access isn’t only about ramps and elevators—it’s also about timing, flexibility, and understanding how and when people can fully participate.

This case is ultimately about more than a single student’s schedule. It’s about whether inclusion is actually upheld, or only when intent is undeniable. It also raises a broader question: will public systems adjust to meet individual needs, or will individuals be expected to fit into systems that don’t change?

As the Court weighs its decision, it’s important to remember that civil rights laws were made to protect people—not institutions. Equal access means understanding that one-size-fits-all systems don’t work for everyone. This is a chance to reaffirm what the ADA and Section 504 were always meant to do: make inclusion real, not conditional. Fairness should meet people where they are. And for students like A.J.T., access shouldn’t start with proving intent—it should start with being heard.