Paul's Policies

Let’s be honest. How many times did you invite the kid with disabilities—the one who looked like he was fighting demons—to study with you after school? Would you have the patience to invite them into a study group if they needed AI supports and specialized note-taking templates? For many students with disabilities, fitting into the traditional rhythm of study groups and peer learning is nearly impossible without adaptive tools.

I’ve lived this myself. Today, living with many disabilities, I rely on a Cornell notes template in Google Docs and AI through Khanmigo to help me digest my U.S. history curriculum. Meanwhile, most students are fine using Microsoft Word or asking ChatGPT to spoon-feed them quick answers. For students like me, the only way to catch up is by using different tools—and that difference makes us feel “at-risk.” Teachers often don’t recognize that kids with disabilities shut down when they feel stigmatized for using alternative resources. Instead of being reassured that it’s okay to be “special,” students wake up every morning worried about being different—sometimes to the point of missing breakfast, missing the bus, or avoiding school entirely.

That’s why policy matters. For example, in 2023 Governor Ron DeSantis signed House Bill 1 in Florida, establishing universal school choice. The bill expanded the Family Empowerment Scholarship for Students with Unique Abilities and even created a transportation stipend, so students struggling with routines like waking up on time or finding safe travel could better access school. These supports acknowledge that education must meet students where they are, not where policymakers wish they were.

At the federal level, recent initiatives show a similar trend. Signed into law by President Trump on July 4, 2025, the One Big Beautiful Bill Act introduced sweeping changes to federal education tax policy. While it stopped short of offering direct tax credits for homeschooling, it did expand financial tools—such as scholarship donation credits and flexible 529 plan options—that could benefit families pursuing alternative forms of education. Yet the law offered little to help families whose children return home with behavior challenges, social isolation, and no clear way to reconnect with their peers.

This raises an important question: does homeschooling truly ground children, as commentators like Charlie Kirk suggest, or does it risk leaving them without study groups and trusted friendships? While homeschoolers may have more time for therapy and personalized learning, without intentional opportunities for peer connection, many leave public school lacking the very networks that sustain both academic growth and civic belonging.

My own experience reinforces this tension. When I walked into the board room in Washington D.C. for the Joint Committee on Taxation, the first thing I asked was: “Why are kids with disabilities from poor neighborhoods known as ‘at-risk’?” I don’t even remember the official we were visiting—only that his rapid-fire explanations of interest rates were incomprehensible without AI transcription. Even the brightest juniors at BYU would have struggled to follow. In that moment, I realized we were all “at-risk”—not just kids labeled with disabilities, but anyone expected to learn without the right tools, pacing, or supports.

The path forward is clear. Education policy must move beyond partisan talking points to focus on practical supports that make inclusion real. The next back-to-school agenda for grades K–12 should prioritize AI access, flexible note-taking templates, safe transportation options like biking programs, and intentional study group formation. Only then can we ensure that students with disabilities—and all students—have the chance not just to survive school, but to thrive in it.