"We in the West must bear in mind that the poor countries are poor primarily because we have exploited them through political or economic colonialism." --Martin Luther King, Jr.
In my doctoral program, we're learning about the different theoretical lenses that researchers use in educational research. One of the reasons to consider theoretical lenses is to understand that what we believe about the creation of knowledge impacts what kinds of knowledge we can explore as researchers. Since my program is committed to social justice and equity, we include critical theories in our study--including Critical Race Theory, Intersectionality, and Queer Studies. While these concepts have taken some heat from the right, they are really interesting to study. One of the concepts that I've encountered in my studies is the extent to which the lens of settler colonialism permeates the thinking, research, and structures of education.
Although I had a vague understanding of colonialism from my studies of history in school, my understanding was always that the bad parts of colonialism was something that happened a long time ago or in far away lands. Sure, it was reawakened by the Monroe doctrine and then rhetorically evoked in science fiction I loved as a child (THE FINAL FRONTIER!), but weren't some concepts of exploration and discovery the very foundations of science--exploring the unknown?
But settler colonialism asks: "Unknown to whom?" "Explore for what?" "Who benefits from this interaction?" So many of my questions for educational research are simple questions students already know the answers to, but the academy has not included their perspectives in "empirical studies," and so the knowledge they possess about education is not acknowledged. But if every student knows and understands that the system of testing we have right now is torture, then it's fairly presumptuous of us to have to "prove" the harms.
In the last year, between my graduate studies and increased reading of Native American writers (including Angeline Boulley, Tommy Orange, and--my new favorite--Louise Erdrich), I'm starting to see that the harms of colonialism are ongoing and continuous. That many of the ideals I value in American culture--self-reliance, individualism, creative use of resources, thirst for knowledge--are predicated on the fact that my European ancestors saw the world as theirs for the taking and exploring (and exploiting). That my husband's country was shaped first by the forcible colonization of Korea by Japan and then the de-facto Cold War colonization of the American army. That the "adventure" I loved about traveling to different countries and experiencing other cultures came at a cost to the people and lands I visited.
The trouble of course is, I'm not entirely sure what to do with this knowledge. I love to travel, but the more I learn about the carbon footprint of commercial flights, the more unethical it feels. I want to visit Hawaii and Puerto Rico, but the problematic ways twentieth century U.S. annexed these lands without the support of the indigenous populations, in part because they represent a kind of fantastical, exotic travel for Americans, gives me pause. I can't even think about my own time in Korea as an English teacher without understanding the complex ways that was another kind of colonization project, albeit ones Koreans themselves submit to in order to gain global power.
More troubling perhaps still is the colonial project of public education that continues in 2022. Again, Covid has us asking: "What are schools--warehouses for children so their parents can be participants in the economy or places of academic instruction or social welfare programs for reducing inequity?" (HINT: They are all of these things, none of these, and more.) "Who benefits from schools closing? From staying "open"?" And so on. Some of these questions are public health questions, sure, but they have revealed to me a troubling narrative I believe that public education is capable of (and should) "save" children by helping them navigate the norms of our society successfully. And what is that but a demand for assimilation by another name?
I'm thinking about this today, on a great day for reflecting about injustice, because the first writer who helped me understand the deep connections between all kinds of injustice and harms in this world was Dr. King. His ability to see how the evils of capitalism, racism, and militarism were interconnected to exploit and suppress others allowed me to understand that there is no single injustice more important than others. What I am most inspired by is his ability to not only see the evils in the world, but to continue to believe it could get better. Sometimes, I really wonder if it can.
I don't have any answers here. I try to do what I can, where I can, but times like these, it can seem overwhelming and that there are no good choices. So instead, I will lean into Dr. King's hope and advice for persistence:
"For all of us today, the battle is in our hands. The road ahead is not altogether a smooth one. There are no broad highways to lead us easily and inevitably to quick solutions. We must keep going." --MLK
Until the right pulled it out for a political flogging, I had no idea what Critical Race Theory was but I have Twitter to thank for starting to learn about settler harms. I hope you'll share more about what you're learning too!
ReplyDeleteI had heard the term before, but didn't really understand where it fit into research and such until this last year. It's funny because the theory HAS become more popularly embraced as an epistemology thanks to some theorists who have brought its ideas and parlance into popular literature (and the fact that critical theories in general believe in the power and importance of knowledge-making outside of a laboratory or university!), but it's still oversimplified in all the laws/press/outrage against it.
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