Tag Archives: social justice

Guest Post — Critical Theory: The Multiple Dimensions of Social Justice

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Critical Theory: The Multiple Dimensions of Social Justice

by Maha Bali

I came across Feminist Frequency and the great work of Anita Sarkeesian by coincidence when I found out about #gamergate, given my interest in educational games. Since then, I have been addicted to her work.

But, this post is not about her or about #gamergate, not really. It is about the multiple sides of social justice. We as critical pedagogues, and even educators who do not necessarily label ourselves as such, often refer to social justice—that we advocate for it, that we would like our students to fight for it—as if social justice were black and white. We know it is not. We just sometimes fall into a trap of talking about it as if it was non-controversial.

Let’s take Anita’s videos on LEGO. I agree completely with her assessment of the gender stereotypes in LEGO games and ads. However, I have noticed a few other things not included in the video.

Those games with ancient Egyptian themes—where they blow up things—they are blowing up my national heritage as an Egyptian! Can you even begin to imagine how that feels? What kind of messages are people portraying when they teach kids in school about ancient Egypt, and then play games where they destroy those monuments? And besides, my postcolonial self would like to remind Westerners that they often have stolen and destroyed our “stuff,” as simulated in these games.

Granted, Anita is against violence in boys’ games in general, and I know she would understand my specific complaint as an Egyptian, maybe even say it someday. But she wouldn’t feel it how I am feeling it now.

Additionally, I noticed almost all the people in the LEGO ads are White (I actually don’t remember any non-Whites, but I might have missed something). LEGO’s “Friends” theme for girls has a token Black girl and a token Latina. I’m not seeing girls like that in the ads. I am seeing just one of each in the midst of many White girls. And by the way, where is the token Muslim girl with a headscarf?

You see where I am going with this discussion, right? Critical theorists approach things with lenses, and our lenses are always incomplete. As an Egyptian, Muslim, headscarf-wearing woman, I see the world in a different way; I see injustice upon women, postcolonials, etc. more clearly from my personal experiences than I see injustice against, say, homosexuals or African Americans. I can try to understand it from their perspective, extrapolating from my own experiences of oppression, but it is not the same. I have never experienced poverty, and without firsthand grassroots experiences, I would have been ignorant of the extent of it in my own country. And yet I have not lived it; I cannot speak for them.

I once posted the hashtag #ineeddiversegames. I said I needed diverse games so I could find characters that represent me. Someone responded with a list of games centered around Muslim females. How does he know I meant me, as a Muslim woman, rather than me as a university professor? Or me as a mom? Oh, right. He looked at my twitter photo, and did not read my profile.

But, it was a fair guess. I actually partially meant it as he took it. I do feel uncomfortable with lack of avatars who cover their hair. Playing a Muslim-designed game does not solve this issue. However, regularly having such avatars in all games would—but I don’t think he got it.

I am reminded of a South Park episode about racism where Token (the implied “funny” name for the token black kid) tells Stan he just “doesn’t get it.” Near the end of the episode, Stan said, “Now I get it. I just don’t get it,” to which Token responds, “Now you get it, Stan.”

So here are two important situations where I just don’t get it. The Palestinian-Israeli conflict looks to me, as an Arab Muslim, to be a clear case of oppression of the Palestinian people. But, I am sure there is a moral ground upon which Israelis justify their existence. Not being one of them, I cannot possibly understand the Holocaust or other oppressions Jews have historically suffered. Knowing about them does not help me understand why the Palestinian people are suffering because of them.

I don’t know enough about the history and politics of this conflict, but I sense it is not a matter of knowledge, but of perspective. That justice there might be more complex than I can imagine. I get that the Israeli need to protect their citizens and allow them to live in peace. However, I don’t get how killing tens or hundreds of Palestinians for each one or two Israelis is going to help achieve that goal.

Another issue even closer to home is the ousting of Egyptian president Morsi in 2013. I get why many Egyptians wanted him out. But I also get that the way it has been done has created more instability and violence. What I don’t get is why people supporting either side can’t see the oppression and injustice that has occurred to the other.

In my two examples above, I am talking about individual citizens, not governments. Governments have different calculations, which I doubt have social justice factored into them. But I tend to assume that citizens strive towards social justice. And yet we have a long way to go, especially if we keep talking about social justice as if the goal was clear, and all the difficulty was in the battle.

Maha Bali is an Associate Professor of Practice at the Center for Learning and Teaching at American University in Cairo, Egypt (AUC). She teaches and researches a variety of things related to education and ed tech. She runs a blog: http://blog.mahabali.me; Twitter: @bali_maha), and is co-facilitator of www.edcontexts.org.

This post was inspired by:

Ellsworth, E. (1989). Why doesn’t this feel empowering? Working through the repressive myths of critical pedagogy. Harvard Educational Review, 59(3), 297-324.

Guest Post: Margaret Robbins on the New Ms. Marvel

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Shape Shifting and Kamala Khan:

How the New Ms. Marvel Can Be a Role Model to Teenage Girls

by Margaret Robbins

Teenagers often have to manage dual identities. On one hand, they have to do well in school to please their parents and teachers; on the other, they have to wear the right clothes, drive the right cars, and go to the right parties to please their friends.

Teenage girls often have the added pressure to look a certain way in order to conform and gain popularity among their peers.

As a result, teenagers often look at celebrities as role models, even though their teachers try and encourage other role models, like the characters of classic literature. Yet, Marvel’s new comic series has a strong female protagonist who is worthy of recognition as well: Kamala Khan.

As a teenage superhero, Kamala struggles to balance her family’s expectations with fitting in at school and fighting the bad guys, yet through it all, she gains a better sense of her true self and her sense of right and wrong.

The new Ms. Marvel, also known as Kamala Khan, who first gained her own comic book series in February 2014 (after an appearance in Captain Marvel in August 2013), has many dualities within her identity.

First of all, she has the typical teenage girl issue of trying to please both her family and peers; her identity as a Pakistani American girl intensifies this challenge. She tries to find a balance between respecting her family’s cultural values and fitting in with American teenagers.

Kamala soon discovers that she has a larger destiny awaiting her. At the end of the first volume, Kamala’s transformation into a superhero begins, and Captain America, Iron Man, and Captain Marvel come to assist with the transition. Captain Marvel warns, her, though, “it’s not going to turn out the way you think.” In other words, sometimes, having superpowers is a little bit more than one bargained for.

In my opinion, Kamala’s story is a good example of how minority women are gaining more of a stronghold in leadership roles, especially in stories for young people and in the genres of science fiction, fantasy, and comics/graphica. Since these genres are sometimes marginalized due to readers not viewing them as serious literature, it seems almost fitting that these stories are the places for female protagonists and minority women to surface as prominent characters.

Kamala is among the first minority teenage female superheroes to have a lead role in a comic, and hopefully, more will follow. Her story is one worthy of study in classrooms, as her struggles are relatable, and her perseverance makes her a strong role model for teenagers.

However, when Kamala first becomes a superhero, she “shapeshifts,” or changes form, into Captain Marvel (also known as Carol Danvers). Initially, there seems to be no logical reason for Kamala’s ability to shapeshift. However, in volume 3, she comments, “everybody’s expecting Ms. Marvel. Ms. Marvel from the news, with the hair and the spandex and the Avenger’s swag, not a sixteen-year-old brown girl with a 9:00 p.m. curfew.”

It’s interesting that Kamala’s commentary reflects on other people’s expectation not only on the numerical age of female superheroes, but also of their physical appearance. However, she begins to realize that even as a teenager, she has agency and can make changes in her life and in how other people perceive her.

In volume 4 of Ms. Marvel, Kamala’s friend Bruce encourages her by saying, “Who cares what people expect? Maybe they expect some perfect blonde, what I need—I mean, what we need—is you.” Only gradually does Kamala realize that she should be her own kind of superhero, rather than the one people are expecting. Therefore, she gains a greater respect for her true identity.

By the time volume five comes along, the hero transformation is complete, but Kamala’s struggles at home intensify. Her father asks more questions about her late hours, her clothing, etc. However, after they argue, Kamala’s father tells her, “You don’t have to be someone else to impress anybody. You are perfect just the way you are.”

Although Kamala doesn’t always see eye to eye with her father, she realizes that she needs to fight for what she feels is right and also to be true to herself and her sense of morality. As she comments, “Abu is right. Bruno was right. I’m not here to be a watered down version of some other hero.”

Kamala still retains her superhero powers, but she stops shapeshifting into Carol Danvers (Captain Marvel). Instead, she keeps her superhero costume on, yet remains in her true bodily form.

Young women often feel that they have to fit a certain mold to please others, to get what they want out of life, and to succeed. However, Kamala realizes that she can help others the most simply by being herself and by fighting the battles she believes to be important.

Kamala learns to fight against oppressive forces and to be authentic, both valuable lessons to teenage girls. I hope teachers will consider studying this comic in the classroom, in conjunction with other literature, to discuss the roles of women in society and the portrayal of female minority characters.

Margaret Robbins is a second year doctoral student in the Language and Literacy Education department at the University of Georgia. She is a Graduate Assistant for both the Red Clay Writing Project and the English Education department. She also has done work with the Kennesaw Mountain Writing Project. Margaret taught high school English for three years and middle school reading and language arts for seven years. Currently, she is the Poetry and Arts Editor for the Journal of Language and Literacy Education. She has been an avid reader of YA literature for many years, and her research interests include children’s/YA literature, multicultural education, critical literacy, critical media literacy, and pop culture.

Guest Post — The Things We Carry: Questioning Systems of Injustice

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The Things We Carry: Questioning Systems of Injustice

A Guest Post by Megan Adams

There are two stories that I carry with me each day. I tell them to countless teachers and students; I have used them for training purposes as well as instructional tools. Yet what drives me to be a better educator and a better person is the memory of the two young men who are the main characters of those stories.

One, Ced, should have graduated in 2008. Ced was motivated, driven, and athletic. He had several scholarship opportunities. However, he took the Georgia High School Graduation tests for the first time in 2007 and failed all five of them. He tried a second time, and passed the writing and science portions of the test. He tried a third time, and did not pass any additional tests.

The fourth time was the spring of his senior year. By now he was panicked. We worked after school each day before football practice. That spring, he passed mathematics. However, failing the social studies and language arts portions for the fourth time meant that he could not graduate with his class.

By May most of his teachers were deeply concerned. Ced had lost interest, and felt that he was not capable of passing the tests. He said, “if I can’t pass the tests, ain’t no way college will work for me.” Yet he tried again that summer.

He managed to pass English Language Arts, but failed Social Studies for the fifth time. His score dropped so dramatically that all of his teachers were at a loss. Yet once the fall of 2008 came, he was back again. He gave a shy smile, and said, “I’m not going to quit, yet.” He came back for two weeks to review for the test.

The weekend before he would have tried to pass the Social Studies portion of the Georgia High School Graduation test for the sixth time, he got into an argument with his father about chopping wood.

His father shot and killed him.

Ced, a child who made good grades and did everything right in his early years of high school had all of his hopes stripped from him by testing, the failure of a school system to prepare him, and the environment in which he was raised and never escaped.

Soon after Ced’s death, however, another young man, Rico, came into my classroom. He was another football player, and was a junior in high school. The death of his former teammate shook him into reality. He asked me to calculate his academic grade point average (GPA) in order to calculate his National Collegiate Athletic Association (NCAA) eligibility.

He was a complacent student during his freshman and sophomore years of high school, and was far more interested in popularity than grades. His GPA was a 1.7 out of 4.0. He asked what he could do. “How will I get out of here?” I told him that as a junior, his only option would be to make all As.

He scoffed, but there was a look I couldn’t place in his eyes. Over the course of the school year, he indeed made all As. I was shocked. His GPA continued to climb, and his scores on the ACT were high enough to get into college. Rico passed all portions of his graduation test by the end of his junior year.

What is the point here? As teachers, what can we take from these stories?

It is easy to blame the system; it is no secret that the state of Georgia has changed our education standards and assessment measurements too many times over the past fifteen years – something teachers across the nation can relate to, despite where they live. The teachers can barely keep up. Clearly the system is not working for students.

It is also easy to blame the difference in students’ home lives. But, is that it?

I think there is a deeper, darker issue at play in these stories about social justice. The high school these boys attended was predominantly Black and one hundred percent free and reduced lunch.

There was neither a regional outcry brought on by the first story nor regional shouts of victory brought on by the second. They are just two more students, struggling to overcome a system that is not designed to support them. That system might work, but it might also end in tragedy as in the case of the first child.

Is there nothing more we can do to change that?

Megan Adams is currently an Assistant Professor of Reading Education at Kennesaw State University. Her interests are in researching youth identity and perceptions of empowerment, particularly in the rural, southern United States. She is also interested in taking that work and assisting pre-service and in-service teachers as they improve their reflexive practice to foster social justice teaching. You can reach her at madam104@kennesaw.edu.

Guest Post: Stephanie P. Jones on The Destruction of Memory

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If you have ever driven on the expressway or a back country road, more than likely you have passed sites of memorial. Peeking up between the blades of overgrown grass, a wooden cross marks the site where someone lost his or her life. There are degrees of grief, ranging from hand painted names to teddy bears. They stand as reminders of life once lived and markers of the place where life failed to reach forward into the next second. Generally, we just drive past these memorials. Workers cut the grass around them, still preserving the respect of what that moment was for somebody in this world.

But, one week ago today, a memorial positioned across the road from where Michael Brown was killed, was reduced to ashes. Rest with that for a moment.

Cards and homemade drawings with expressions of love and forgiveness. Ashes.

Balloons, shaped like hearts and American flags. Ashes.

Flowers, long dead, still preserving hope and justice within their petals. Ashes.

Ashes.

Plainly put: fire destroys. When someone burns a memorial of a deceased human being, they are denying everyone the right to heal. Both the oppressor and the oppressed cannot face the impact of what happened to Michael Brown’s memorial, let alone his body, if we can’t go directly to the infected wounds of police brutality, fear of Black bodies, and the failure to move forward with the protocol of justice.

Along with our inability to heal, fire can destroy memory. Imagine the impact of burning down a sacred memorial in this country and never rebuilding it. Could you imagine Washington D.C. without the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier? Or New York without the 9/11 museum? If those memorials fail to exist, the memory won’t either. Forgetting is the consequence of burning.

If you consider yourself to be a teacher of social justice, stop. I need you to BE social justice. Being social justice means that through your teaching, we examine what memorials are being justified, what memorials are being “burned” so that we forget why they are there, and what memorials need to be created so that we can heal and remember.

Being social justice means dismantling structures of oppression, not burning. Being social justice means finding solutions to our problems rather talking endlessly about the problem itself.

Michael Brown’s memorial was rebuilt within a matter of hours. The people of Ferguson and the larger community understood the failure to rebuild would have meant our slow decline in forgetting Michael Brown.

Stephanie P. Jones is graduate teaching assistant and doctoral student at the University of Georgia. Her research interests include literacy practices of Black female youth and teacher education. She taught for six years in an urban high school and is currently working on a project involving teacher education and racial sites of trauma.

Guest Post: Julia Ozog on Thin Privilege and Fat Activism

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As a woman, I face an exorbitant amount of stress concerning the way I look – particularly how much I weigh. I’ve been trained from an early age to feel like most of my value comes from being thin and pretty, and even though I’ve spent much time intentionally unlearning those kinds of thoughts, I still feel haunted by the feeling that I’m not good enough if I’m not skinny enough. Most women are made to feel like they should take up as little space as possible, and that the best way to gain attention from men and respect from women is to be thin. However, even though much of my concern with being thin comes from the oppression of sexism, many of those feelings also come from my privilege as a thin person. I’m terrified to gain weight because there are very real societal and interpersonal privileges I’ve always had because I am thin. While I have never been heavy, I recently lost significant weight and became “skinny.” It’s hard for me to admit, but I’ve been scared to gain any of that weight back because I don’t want to face how people would think of me and treat me if I became fat. I recently realized that that fear is one reason why I know thin privilege exists.

As a social justice activist, I understand some of the emotional, psychological, physical, and economic injustices that fat folks face on a daily basis, but I’ve only recently started to acknowledge my privilege as a thin person, and hold myself accountable for my own oppression of fat people. (Note: the term “fat” is preferred by many fat activists over “overweight” because it can help the fat acceptance movement by “normalizing the neutrality and/or positivity of ‘fat’” – see more on this website). My perpetuation of fat phobia comes from my own insecurity and body image issues. For example, I remember an instance when I was skimming through photos online of a guy I had just started dating, and when I found pictures of him and his ex-girlfriend, I started comparing myself to her. (Disclaimer: I’m not proud of this act.) In response to my anxiety, a friend said something about how ‘I didn’t have to worry about her because she looked fat and I was way skinnier and prettier than her.’ I knew she was out of line, only trying to make me feel better despite her use of fat phobia, but the thing is: it did make me feel better. I know that I have a silent power from being thin, and I chose to use that power in that situation to make myself feel more secure about my new relationship. This power brought itself to my attention again recently: I gained some temporary weight a couple of months ago when I was prescribed steroids for a sinus infection, and I was so afraid of feeling unattractive, that I started asking my boyfriend multiple times a day if I looked fat, desperately hoping that the answer was “No.” I did these things to hold onto my privilege because it has been so ingrained in me that I am worth more skinny than I am fat. I realize how problematic my thinking was now that fat phobia and thin privilege have been brought to my attention.

I wanted to write this article on fat phobia because, as a social justice educator, I think that it is important for me to explore the difference in oppression that fat and thin women face. I started to write from a very academic standpoint. Though, I honestly had not learned much about fat phobia throughout my activist career, so I read articles written by fat activists to try and understand the systemic, institutional, and personal oppression that fat people face in our society. However, I have come to realize that, at this point, I personally understand fat phobia best through my own perpetuation of it. Thin privilege is a very real thing that I benefit from, and until I and other people holding that power acknowledge our privilege – and hold ourselves accountable to think about it – fat phobia will continue to exist. My thinness means that I’m often perceived as being fit, healthy, beautiful, and “normal,” because those qualities are associated with success in our culture. A quick flip through the pages of almost any magazine confirms that ultra-thin women receive respect and admiration for their bodies, while fat women are shamed mercilessly for their weight. Since the list of ways in which thin folks are benefited by thin privilege is way too long to cover here, I found this article helpful in understanding more ways that my thin privilege benefits me. 

Although it’s not my (or any one person’s) fault that fat phobia is so prevalent and harmful in our society, it is my responsibility as an aspiring ally to acknowledge my privilege and the ways in which I continue to oppress those around me. It’s not only unsupportive, but actively oppressive that I have used my thinness to feel superior to other women. I feel that acknowledging this shortsightedness is the first step in becoming more accountable in the social justice revolution. This issue is complicated, of course; however, it is unacceptable in our society that I, as a woman, feel like I have power based on my looks rather than my talent, intelligence, or other parts of my character. I’m still learning about fat activism and politics – and how to intentionally include fat phobia when teaching and learning about privilege and oppression; but I hope to continue this conversation and accountability with other activists.

 

Julia Ozog is an intersectionality feminist radical educator. She graduated from the University of Massachusetts Amherst’s Social Thought and Political Economy program a year and a half ago, and currently lives outside of Boston. In college, she facilitated a community organizing class for undergraduates, which included subjects of privilege and oppression, identity politics, and social and economic justice through organizing. Julia’s passion is furthering social justice through liberatory education, and she is looking forward to continuing that work in the Boston area. For more of her written work (including another copy of this blog post), visit her blog at www.quiotgrrrl.com.

Guest Post: WTF? 10 Counterproductive Behaviors of Social Justice Educators

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I have been struggling with how to do the work so many of us call “social justice.” I understand the why, or I at least think I do. I am on a journey to understand my role in changing the world, which is no doubt a privilege. It has taken me quite a while to get over the fear of doing the work correctly and instead, to begin operating from the heart and continuously challenge my perspective.

As I began to engage this work in a healthier manner, I noticed patterns of bad habits that we educators exhibit while actively being change agents. These habits, in the name of justice and equity, get in the way of making authentic, strategic, and sustaining change. Below are 10 counterproductive behaviors of social justice educators, all explored from the unique intersections of my privileged and oppressed lens.

 

1) Shaming our allies – Instead lets educate

It is important to be careful about how we hold others accountable. At times, we as educators fall into a righteous place, where we live in the moment to be right, but more so to impose the wrath of our rightness. We lose track of educating and become “social justice avengers.” We thrash anyone that makes mistakes or do not acknowledge their privilege, mostly out of ignorance. When we act like such, we instill fear and frustration in our allies, effectively immobilizing them. Before you respond or react, ask yourself what you want the result to be: proving that you are closer to “right,” or developing a stronger, more capable ally?

2) Lead with our oppressed identities – Forget that we have immense privilege too

How is it that we are some of the first people to forget that we are amazingly privileged? Our maleness, middle class, able bodies, Christianity, age, education, etc. oozes from our pores. It is our very being. And colluding is as simple as breathing in the gift of air. Let’s own our stuff – recognize and acknowledge when we have the wind behind us. Be committed to your growth and allow yourself to be challenged on the identities we often leave unexplored.

3) Create competition around being the best at “Social Justice” – Using language as a way to exclude

We all know individuals that lead conversations with big words and no context. After they are done speaking, most people are completely lost, and so is the message. Correct use of rhetoric is important, but we must be careful that it doesn’t become jargon. Additionally, we cannot become upset when we are asked to explain or define a handful of the words used or ideas explored. How often do we use language to exclude? How often is it intentional or unintentional? Does using the right and “smart sounding” language validate our being someway?

4) Leading with emotions, instead of thinking and acting strategically

How often do we sound off? For some of us, we lose our darn minds. There are moments where we can’t quite hold ourselves together; however, that cannot be our response most of the time (see self-healing below). As Arthur Chickering said, we must learn to manage our emotions. If we do not, it serves as more proof that we are not as developed as we would love to think we are. If we are going to do this work, we have to engage strategically with the end in mind. Our response needs to produce the results that we would like to see. Sometimes our response will show up as joy, compromise, understanding, and empathy. Other times, it will show up as frustration, anger, and disappointment. However, every response should have a purpose, which is a fine line between maintaining authenticity. We impede the fight for justice when we act out of thoughtless emotion.

5) Not acknowledging our self-work

We must acknowledge that we are a work in progress; we both challenge the oppressive systems and collude in them simultaneously. At every step, we have to understand that we are not the authority, but facilitators of dynamic conversations. We will often fall short. We are at times engaging from places with tremendous hurt and an abundance of privilege. It makes sense that we have off moments or are flat out missing something because of our privilege. We are not the best at allowing ourselves to be challenged. When we block our self-work, it means that we are no longer growing and we are modeling destructive behavior to others. For example, it is highly problematic to be an expert in gender identity and expression and have no understanding of the intersections of those identities within race and class.

6) Caught in constant surprise that people don’t know what we know – cultivate allies

This issue is something I see all the time, and often participate in: being absolutely blindsided by the amount of knowledge that my peers, students, and even superiors lack in regards to justice and equity. The definition of privilege is unearned, unasked for, and often invisible. If someone is oblivious to injustice, chances are they are blinded by their privilege. We know this, so why are we so surprised and disgusted when it happens? This is the work that we have committed our lives to. We have to develop thicker skins – not to say that we won’t ever be frustrated, shaken up, or even experience immense hurt and pain.  These moments will happen, but this activism is our calling. It is not supposed to be easy. At times, we are supposed to put the cause before ourselves. Don’t get me wrong, self-care is important; however we need to be in rooms and spaces where we are constantly and strategically raising the temperature. Meet students and colleagues where they are and challenge them to be more.

7) Choosing not to challenge family members and elders

This is just a Cody observation, but I noticed that quite a few communities give their elders a pass. We choose not to challenge them or set our expectations of them higher. However, we have absolutely no problem setting colleagues and strangers “straight.” Hypocrite, much? Yes, I understand that our elders may choose not to change, but since when are our conversations about changing minds? We should be about expanding thought and creating new questions, and I think this argument transcends age and authority. This work is hard and emotionally draining; however, we must be vigilant in all areas.

8) Marginalizing the courage it takes to allow your reality to be dismantled

Have you experienced that moment where everything that you thought you knew was ripped out of your hands? Scratch that – not hands, but your heart and soul? Everything that you hold true being constantly challenged and put on display? The way you viewed your family unit? When you discover your mother’s truth was just that: her truth? When your question transitions from who am I, to why am I? We are charged with dismantling the life experiences of many, knocking down the walls of resistance and ignorance, but additionally, moving with care and intentionality. Let’s never forget what we are asking people to do.

9) Refusing to hold multiple truths

How are we creating dynamic change if we do not allow ourselves to fully think through the pros and cons of ideas? How often are we truly weighing the greater good? I love film; watching and analyzing movies is certainly one of my favorite hobbies. Actors amaze me. Their gift can be mystically transformative, but I can hold multiple truths. Whoopi Goldberg is great in Ghost, and deserved an Oscar for her acting; however, if you broke down her character, you would see that it is a glorified Mammy caricature. Julia Roberts is absolutely charming in Pretty Woman, but is also led and dominated by the gender role that is “man.” Teach for America provides an experience where the privileged have an opportunity to engage oppressed communities. Many of these students will be policy makers and fall into influential positions. However, it also promotes the idea of the white savior (oops). We have to be able to engage multiple truths in order to move forward strategically. 

10) Challenging others to heal by “erasing their pain”

Stop! Please phrase this action differently. At times, we say this phrase to others as if they should forget their pain and move on. I’m certain that this is not our intent; however, on many occasions, it is the impact. We are effectively marginalizing their experiences. What I think we really want to encourage is exploring that pain – understanding the origins and the emotions in the now, and then figure out how to manage the pain and use it strategically for fuel to both continue the work, and grow in perspective.

 

This list is not exhaustive of behaviors, or meant to be a list that everyone agrees with. My hope is that it starts a much-needed conversation between educators. I think we have a lot of room to grow, and can do a better job of holding each other accountable. As social justice educators, we have all agreed to continue, to critique, and explore the problematic ways in which we show up into spaces. This post is to help start that conversation, and perhaps explore self-work practices. 

“If you don’t understand, ask questions. If you’re uncomfortable about asking questions, say you are uncomfortable about asking questions and then ask anyway. It’s easy to tell when a question is coming from a good place. Then listen some more. Sometimes people just want to feel heard. Here’s to possibilities of friendship and connection and understanding.”

― Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, Americanah

Cody Charles currently serves as an Associate Director of Multicultural Affairs at the University of Kansas. During his time at KU, he has led diversity and social justice trainings for much of the campus community, including student athletes, student executive boards, staff, faculty, and high school students. Cody was recognized by the American College Personnel Association (ACPA) as the Outstanding New Professional in Residence Life in 2008. One of his life goals is to travel the country lecturing on topics of social justice and leadership. You can connect with Cody on Twitter: @_codykeith_ or at consultcody.com.

Note: a version of this piece first appeared on Thought Catalog here. 

Guest Post: Marianne Snow on Duncan Tonatiuh’s Separate Is Never Equal

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I received my copy of Duncan Tonatiuh’s new picture book, Separate Is Never Equal, the other day.

 

This book presents the true story of Sylvia Mendez, a Latina elementary school student, whose family and neighbors successfully challenged Anglo/Mexican segregation in California schools in the 1940s.

Sylvia Mendez (center) and artifacts of Anglo/Mexican segregation and integration.

Back then, many districts forced dark-skinned Mexican-American students to attend dilapidated, underfunded schools, while white and lighter-skinned Mexican-American children enjoyed well-kept buildings, new books, and better educational opportunities. (One might argue that many students of color face the same inequities today, but that’s a different subject.) Fortunately, the families’ lawsuit against the district was successful, and the schools were integrated.

(For more information about the historical background of the book, see this PBS video.)

After I read the book, I knew I had to share it with Araceli (pseudonym), an 11-year-old Latina aspiring civil rights lawyer. Having lived for years in a neighborhood affected by poverty and racial tension, Araceli has vowed to commit her life to social justice. Instead of just ignoring the problems that surround her, she wants to make a difference now and as an adult. So, I wasn’t surprised when she devoured Separate Is Never Equal.

This incident illustrates the importance of sharing a wide variety of justice-themed children’s literature with kids. Recently, I’ve been reading a lot about the self to prototype matching theory (Setterlund & Niedenthal, 1993), which basically, in the context of social justice activism, means that a person:

  1. Imagines what a “typical” (or prototype) social justice activist looks and acts like,
  2. Compares him/herself to that prototype, and
  3. Decides whether he/she can be like that prototype.

One of Separate Is Never Equal’s great strengths is its introduction of a young, Latina, activist prototype – something that we don’t see very often in children’s literature. Most justice-themed books that I know of have focused on male civil rights leaders – Mahatma Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Jr., Malcolm X, John Lewis, César Chávez – and, of course, these books are vastly important; however, children need to see even more diversity in justice-themed literature so that they can have role models who share their cultural and experiential backgrounds. All children, regardless of their age, gender, or cultural/ethnic background, need to know that they can stand up for social justice.

This collage is beautiful. Let’s add to it! (via naacp-oh.org)

This collage is beautiful. Let’s add to it!

Another feature of this book that I greatly appreciate is its focus on Anglo/Mexican segregation and civil rights, a facet of U.S. history that is often ignored. I grew up in Texas and never once remember hearing about these dark days in the Southwest. Instead, we only learned about Dr. King and African-American Civil Rights, and while kids obviously should continue learning about that movement, they also need to know about other struggles for social justice.

So, if you’re a teacher or parent, I urge you to carefully select children’s literature, like Separate Is Never Equal, that provides the kids in your life with social justice role models from various backgrounds.  You never know who you’ll inspire!

References

Setterlund, M. B., & Niedenthal, P. M. (1993). “Who am I? Why am I here?” Self-esteem, self-

clarity, and prototype matching. Personality and Social Psychology, 65(4), 769-780.

Tonatiuh, D. (2014). Separate is never equal. New York, NY: Abrams.

 

Marianne Snow, a former early childhood teacher, is currently working on her PhD in literacy education. Her research interests include Latin@, Latin American, and nonfiction children’s literature. In her spare time, she blogs at Getting Critical with Children’s Literature about books, critical literacy, multicultural education, and social justice issues.

Living in a patriarchal society: Not “another feminist rant”

. For Teachers & Teacher Researchers, Reflections . , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

“Patriarchy” is a touchy subject. It comes up at dinner and its speaker becomes the enemy. It is posted on Facebook, and the poster becomes the attacker. If it’s linked on Reddit, it gets downvoted into oblivion. People scare away from discussing patriarchy because it leads to conversational war — social suicide — — negative Nancy’s, Debbie downers, and the like.

On one hand, we [Westerners] live in a patriarchal society (Note: the purpose of this post is not to argue that we live in a patriarchal society, as I think that is a fact and not “up for argument.” However, if you do, please post below and I’ll write a response). On the other hand, America has progressed since the 1950s. However, just as other -isms persist, evidence of sexism proves we are not living in equal times.

According to a University of Miami study, one’s high school GPA affects his or her income — and women, despite GPA, make significantly less money than men. Here is the chart:

Image

Before anyone gets too worked up, this study was conducted by Michael T. French for Eastern Economic Journal. It was not a study searching for patriarchal data or to back up a feminist ideal. As the chart demonstrates, “the data indicate that overall high school GPA is significantly higher among women, but men have significantly higher annual earnings.” Many other interesting findings arose from this study. For instance, “it demonstrates that African-American men and women attain higher educational levels than white students with the same high school GPA and background characteristics.”

Like any study, not all the details are posted. I do not know which jobs or incomes are compared to one another. Despite this fact, though, the study is yet another piece of the puzzle pointing to our patriarchal system. It explains why I am excited at the prospect of our first female president (we don’t get excited about the fact that a president is a man…unless he is of color). It helps explain why I get excited when a female CEO is named (again: no one ever talks about the gender of a CEO if he is a man). The markings, even, of our language demonstrate patriarchal ideologies.

Please, do everyone a favor (especially yourself), and watch the following video, if you haven’t already. It is a Tedx Talk by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie titled “We Should All Be Feminists.” She is a brilliant speaker who puts into eloquent words everything else I’d want to say in this post. The video is funny, informative, and interesting — I promise.

A professor of mine once said her favorite definition of feminism was this: “men and women are of equal worth.” I loved that, as it is all, as a feminist, that I could ask for.

 

“Kids” doing big things…

. For Students, For Teachers & Teacher Researchers, Inspiration, Uncategorized . , , , , , , , , ,

“Kids” doing big things…

A while back, I received the following email from Zak Kolar, a high school senior, asking me to post his website on my blog. Although it took some time, I am living up to my promise — check it out; he is doing some great things for a person so young. Here is his message:

Dear Ms. Whitley,

My name is Zak Kolar and I am a senior in high school. Over the past few months, I have been working on a website called “How many is that?”: http://www.howmanyisthat.org. The purpose of the site is to take large numbers associated with social justice issues and compare them with local information to put them into perspective. For example, there are 66 million girls in the world who do not have access to education. Athens, GA has a population of 116,084. 66 million people would be about 569 Athenses. The goal of How many is that? is to make it easier to see how these human rights violations have affected people as individuals, and not just faceless statistics, ultimately inspiring action to prevent them from happening in the future. I think that How many is that? is a good educational resource because it can be used to get people’s attention about human rights issues when they realize the magnitude of these tragedies. I was hoping that you would consider posting a link to “How many is that?” on your “For students” or “For teachers” pages. Also, I have many social and historical issues presented on my site (e.g. bullying, domestic violence, genocide), so if there are any issues that you would like me to publish on my website, please let me know and I would be happy to add them.

Thank you!

Zak

Wow. I am definitely inspired.