Before Walter started kindergarten, teachers began pulling him out of class. He acted out — throwing things, biting, running off — behaviors that grew from a chaotic home: his father abused his mother, spent time in jail, and when Walter was 5 his mother was left paralyzed after a car crash. A therapeutic day care recommended a locked, high-security program; his mother agreed, worrying he might run into traffic.
Walter was placed at River Bend Education Center, a public program for children labeled EBD — emotional or behavioral disorders, officially called emotional disturbance under federal special-education law. Unlike many other special-education categories, EBD does not require a medical or psychological diagnosis. Its criteria are broad and subjective: difficulty maintaining relationships, pervasive unhappiness, or a pattern of behavior that makes mainstream classrooms difficult. In practice, many students flagged as EBD are those adults have decided are too disruptive for general classrooms.
That classification often becomes permanent. The label followed Walter through K–12 and kept him separated from general-education peers. By the time he reached Central Senior High School in St. Paul, most of his schedule was with other students labeled EBD. In a windowless fourth-floor classroom, veteran teacher Jesse Kwakenat — Mr. K — runs a room where snacks and steady relationships are part of coaxing students into learning. His students, nearly all students of color, have often known each other for years.
Supporters of separate settings emphasize individualized instruction from trained teachers. Critics warn that clustering students can isolate them, limit academic opportunities, and curtail chances to learn social skills from peers. Kwakenat points to the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act’s mandate for the “least restrictive environment,” which ideally means integrating students into mainstream classes when appropriate. Yet he sees many students rarely leave special-education settings.
Nationally, about 15 percent of students receive special education services — roughly 8 million children — and about 4 percent of those (around 300,000 students) are labeled with emotional disturbance. Research from bodies such as the National Council on Disability and the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights finds students with EBD are more likely later to be incarcerated and less likely to hold steady employment as adults. The category is also disproportionately filled by children from low-income families and students of color.
Students like Walter often internalize being labeled “bad.” He says he was taught to fight to protect himself and his family, and that teachers branded him a troublemaker early on. That identity — being “about a behavior problem” — shapes how young people see themselves and how schools treat them. In elementary school he was put in locked, padded rooms; by middle school the response shifted to suspensions. By 11th grade he had earned only about half the credits he needed to graduate.
Kwakenat worries that removing students to manage behavior steals the chance for them to learn better skills from peers who aren’t labeled. Peer influence and everyday classroom norms matter; when a child is othered from the earliest grades, it becomes much harder to change their trajectory later.
Educators and specialists who work with EBD students say behavior often signals unaddressed needs. School psychologists and teachers frequently connect EBD labels to trauma — family violence, instability, and other adverse childhood experiences — and argue many students would be better understood through a trauma-informed lens. Some professionals compare the struggles of certain students with EBD to forms of PTSD.
Bias also shapes who gets labeled. Experts note that decisions often depend on perceptions and appearances. Some school psychologists say white students are more likely to be categorized in labels like Other Health Impairment (often used for ADHD) or autism, while Black and brown children are disproportionately labeled EBD. Historians and scholars point out a long history of pathologizing Black behavior and of systems that sort and remove students of color from mainstream classrooms, even when the law was meant to expand access.
Labels carry long-term consequences. When Walter arrived at Central, the school offered academic and extracurricular opportunities, but most of his classes remained with EBD peers. Kwakenat describes Walter as bright, yet suspensions and missing credits made graduation a struggle. After a fight in the gym during his senior year and another suspension, Kwakenat believed Walter might be better served at Journeys Secondary School, a St. Paul public program serving students labeled EBD up to age 22. Journeys shifts the emphasis from credits to life skills: finding housing, managing money, and keeping a job for 90 days.
Walter resisted at first. He wanted to graduate with his Central classmates and stay close to friends and teachers. But added turmoil at home, including his sister’s arrest, led him to try Journeys. Attendance was uneven: the program allows independence, and Walter soon found a job as a personal care attendant that often took precedence over classes. Journeys staff note that students commonly get steady work quickly, which can pull them away from school participation.
Despite setbacks, Walter walked across Central’s 2025 graduation stage. He still must complete Journeys’ checklist to receive his diploma. He visits Kwakenat’s classroom occasionally and talks about college, but juggling schoolwork, a job, and adult responsibilities is difficult.
Systemic pressures make change hard. The COVID-19 pandemic worsened attendance, achievement gaps, and mental-health struggles, and the number of students qualifying for special education has been rising. There is a nationwide shortage of special-education teachers, and shifts toward increased state control over education could deepen disparities. Critics also say federal research into effective educational practices has been weakened by cuts to research funding.
Many experts argue the federal definition of emotional disturbance is outdated and too subjective. They insist IDEA’s idea of the least restrictive environment refers to instructional approach, not a fixed room or separate program. Some districts have tried mainstreaming students labeled EBD back into general classrooms, but efforts sometimes fail if they are poorly implemented, producing chaotic classrooms and pushback from families and staff. Still, some districts and nonprofits pursue alternatives: using Medicaid to pay for therapy and family supports, offering wraparound services, and creating programs focused on reintegration rather than permanent removal.
After more than 15 years teaching at Central, Kwakenat knows many students leave school into a world that can be dangerous. He hopes for systemic change but recognizes real overhaul will be slow. Walter, now living with his longtime girlfriend who is studying nursing, credits Kwakenat with helping steer him toward a better path. He says he’s better than he was, even if he isn’t yet where he wants to be.