Administrator Activist?

Now that I’m central office staff, I’ve been asked if I’m going to change my blog to “Administrator Activist.” The short answer is, “No.” I will always consider myself an educator, and I will never stop considering moving back into the classroom. There may come a time when I feel that I’ve done my job, and I will feel comfortable going back, but right now I have work to do! Below are thoughts on how I see my administrator role through Star Wars references, since my “activist stamp” is a Rebel Alliance tattoo…




I’ve been an “administrator” for a few weeks now, and there are some things I have to get used to. First, I work in a cubicle. I miss my big, bright, beautiful classroom. I miss the kids. I miss colleagues who jump at the chance to collaborate on a project. People at the central office, for the most part, act kind of like nothing we do overlaps or needs to overlap. I’m a collaborator at heart, so this is a challenge for me. I wonder if some people feel like I’m trying to come in and take over their programs, but that’s not at all what I want to do. First of all, I have enough work trying to build a program from scratch with no model for it anywhere. I don’t want to do their job. I want to work together because I truly believe community creates magic.

I had the impression that people at the central office are disconnected from the lived experiences of students and teachers. Turns out, it’s mostly true. Everyone is about policy, protocols, meetings, spreadsheets, proposals, and professional development. I know those things are important, but I never want to be disconnected from the real work. In some of the most gross moments, I’ve actually seen with my own eyeballs and heard with my own ears an “Us vs Them” culture being cultivated, where principals and district staff are the “us,” and educators are the “them.” People will say they’re doing it for the kids, but I don’t necessarily see that.

Then there’s the fact the vast majority of people in the building are white. There are people of color, but as in school buildings, not many of us hold positions of real power, and the ones that do tend to not want to rock the boat for fear of being pushed out, and rightly so. We have many stories of strong leaders of color being pushed out or worked out because they were starved of support staff. Additionally, anything that’s seen as a racial justice initiative, like Ethnic Studies, is considered “non-essential.” Again, they’ll say they’re all about racial equity, but I’m not really seeing that, either.




I was very intentional about asking my friends and colleagues to keep me straight before even considering this position. One piece of advice I received that I think will prove to be invaluable is to stay connected to my activist friends and groups. Yes, because they are my people. These are the people and groups who share my core values and paradigms. They will keep me grounded in the work that I want to achieve.

I also need to hold on to my belief that this work is not about me. The job and position are not about me. I am working for the bigger picture and greater gains. If I am pushed out, it won’t be before I chip off a good chunk of the system. I also realize that I can push as hard as I do for several reasons. One, the people who were pushed out before me managed to chip away at the structure making it more vulnerable for my attacks! I am forever grateful for what they did and the emotional labor they put into that.

In a previous post I wrote about the need to have a network of support. I will rely heavily on this group of people as I move forward, but I can only do that because they trust me to work honestly in the best interest of the community. My community sent me into this work with some shields, including the title of Teacher of the Year. While this does not make me infallible, it does make it harder to directly challenge my work, especially since the title was awarded for the work I’ve done on Ethnic Studies and racial justice. I will use their support, trust, and shield as I go into battle with The Dark Side.




I have to acknowledge one thing before I delve into attack plans and predict outcomes, and that’s my white passing privilege. This is something new to me since moving to Seattle. I’ve decided this privilege comes from the fact that Seattle is much more white than my hometown in Southern California where nearly everyone is Chicanx. I am mixed, so lighter skinned than many, and that makes me white passing here. I realize I get away with saying things my darker skinned colleagues might not get away with because they may be seen as more aggressive due to bias. Many of the educators pushed out in the past are Black women. I will use my privilege and push it as far as it will take me, but I will use it intentionally in a way that honors people who didn’t get the same pass I will.

My battle plan has one strategy: community. Ethnic Studies cannot exist without community. It’s not the work of one person, or one group. It must be communally created with the most oppressed voices being lifted up by those of us with the most privilege. The district is consistently criticized for its lack of community engagement. I want to change that. I want our program to thrive, and for that, we need the community. Not only will this strengthen our program, but it will be another shield for working on racial justice in general.

My plan isn’t a secret, and it’s one that I set into motion the first day on the job. If the closet white supremacists in the district want to undermine our work, this is probably where they will go. They may come at me head on as they have with others, but my community and my titles may make that less appealing than it was in the past. They may come after my identity. Some people of color don’t think I should be doing this work because “I’m only half” or because I’m white passing. They may play on that. I say, “Bring it,” because minimizing a person’s racial or ethnic identity is racist as fuck. But I think where they would try hardest is to turn the community against me by either playing the Southern Strategy, or trying to undermine my work in communities of color. If that happens, I’ll be ready, and if I get pushed out, I’ll be ready. The next rebel will come, though, and their work will be easier because of the chunk I’ll take with me.

Reflections on the Week September 16, 2018

One of the things I will do from time to time is reflect on my experiences and my work. This is the first of such posts. It’s been a hectic week that started out with a great Teacher of the Year awards ceremony where Robert Hand was named Washington Teacher of the Year. I’m excited for him and his community, and I’m sure he’ll represent us well. That’s him in the front of the picture.


If I can go back a little bit, to last weekend, I can include reflections on the Teacher of the Year retreat. It was interesting spending the weekend discussing education policy and learning about “decision makers” and how educators have to fight for a spot at that table. This was something I was aware of, so it was refreshing to learn there is an active network of educators organizing themselves to do just that.

I had the pleasure of meeting past teachers of the year including Nate Bowling and Mandy Manning. We met several past regional teachers of the year and learned from their experiences. It’s interesting to learn that many past teachers of the year fade back into their classrooms and don’t go forward into activist work. That’s a little disappointing, honestly, but I guess I understand it to some degree. I don’t like being in the spotlight, and it’s tiring work that regularly draws negativity from the haters. I’m happy I began activist work before becoming teacher of the year because I went in already knowing what it’s like, and the retreat was helpful in giving me new tools to crank it up a few notches.


One great tip was! If you don’t know about that, check it out. I only kind of sort of used Twitter before because it’s challenging to follow who and what I want, but tweetdeck makes that so easy to do! I’ll be using Twitter more often. If you don’t follow me already, do it now @TCastroGill. I do appreciate Twitter as a tool for activism because it’s such a public forum. If you’re thinking of dipping your toe into the activist waters, Twitter is a great place to start.

The awards ceremony at the MoPop was inspiring. It was a bit of a relief to know that I could not be chosen as State Teacher of the Year. I could enjoy the moment without the nerves my colleagues on stage were feeling. Even though I couldn’t be named State Teacher of the Year, my people came out to support me, and that was worth more than any title.

my people

From the back row left to right are Jeff Treistman, Uti Hawkins, Dr. Gonzalo Guzmán, Dr. Keisha Scarlett, Dr. Concie Pedroza, and then coming around to the bottom row from right to left are Dr. Kyle Kinoshita, Marquita Prinzing, myself, my child, Elysia Hammond, and last – but not least – Alma Alonzo. I hope each person in this photo realizes how much they mean to me and how grateful I am they came to support and celebrate. Dr. Kinoshita is my new boss and a badass, which is why I couldn’t be named State Teacher of the Year. Not because Kyle’s a badass, but because I have a new job. I’m the new Seattle Public Schools Ethnic Studies Program Manager. More on that below. Marquita is my friend and colleague who organized the nominations for me to be teacher of the year. She is a powerful woman who truly believes in the agency of educators. I owe much to her. Alma and Gonzalo have been working with me on creating Ethnic Studies in Seattle, and thank goodness because they are both brilliant! Jeff is the librarian of the school I used to teach in who is now disappointed he doesn’t have a co-agitator in the building anymore! Sorry, Jeff… Uti, Keisha, and Concie are part of a power team of women of color who lead our Department of Racial Equity Advancement. In my new role, I will be able to partner with them to make Ethnic Studies an institutional reality!

There are many others who couldn’t make it because they were teaching their classes or had their own work to do. Those people include Rita Green, education chair of the NAACP and a personal idol for me; Jon Greenberg, who teaches seniors at the Center School and recruited me to the work of Ethnic Studies; Jennifer Charlton, an amazing and outspoken Latinx educator teaching at Nathan Hale High School; and so many more who nominated me for this honor including my friends and colleagues with Social Equity Educators. This group of educator leaders is behind much of the racial justice work that is happening in Seattle Public Schools.

Then there is Elysia and Brian. Elysia and I lost Brian to an unexpected heart attack last February. Though he wasn’t there with us in person, he was there in our hearts and thoughts. He would be so proud. He was still alive when the nominations started and when I started my application. I told him I didn’t think I would be chosen. He laughed and said, “You know you will.”

And poor Elysia, they have sat through so many board meetings, committee meetings, union meetings, conferences, representative assemblies, and even the teacher of the year retreat. They deserve much of the credit for my work because they have been so good about being dragged everywhere and being bored to death in the process. I’m so proud of them.


After the awards ceremony I went straight to work, literally, promoting Ethnic Studies. I met with Jon and his principal at Center School which shares space with the MoPop at Seattle Center. I’m sad to leave the classroom, and I will miss the kids. In her speech at the ceremony, Mandy was in tears because she’s leaving her kids this year to tour the country as the National Teacher of the Year. I almost cracked then because I’ve gone through that in the decision to move into my new position. What makes it a little bit easier is I will now have access to structural processes and change that I didn’t from my classroom. Instead of having an impact on 130 kids each year, I have the potential to impact over 50,000.

This is where teacher leadership and activism has led me. This is where I will continue to fight for what I believe in and for what our community believes our kids need. Some people think “fight” is too strong of a word, and those are the people who have never had to do the actual work. I’m settling into my cubicle at the central office where I have Black Lives Matter posters and a picture that says “Smash White Supremacy,” and these:


I spoke with my son today who lives in Southern California. He’s a barber and had a client visiting from Seattle. Of course my son was like, “Oh, my mom lives there. She’s a pretty well known teacher.” (I don’t consider myself well-known, but he thinks I am because I was having ice cream with him over the summer while I was doing an interview for ParentMap Magazine.) To my son’s surprise, the client recognized my name and pulled up this blog site on his phone asking, “Is that your mom?” (I guess that does kind of make me well-known. Ha! I’ll have to rethink that.)

I’m glad to know people are reading and following, and I hope that my thoughts and reflections motivate you to act, even if it’s doing something as small as hanging a picture that says “Smash White Supremacy” in an office full of mostly white folx. Yes, that’s radical even in Seattle.

2019 PSESD Regional Teacher of the Year Mock Keynote Speech

I was recently named the 2019 PSESD Regional Teacher of the Year thanks to the nominations of about a dozen of my colleagues. Being the regional ToY means that I am a finalist for State ToY. This weekend I am in Olympia where, today, I went through the selection process. The process included a panel interview and a mock keynote and press conference.

We won’t know who was selected until Monday at the awards ceremony, but either way I am proud of my performance, and I thought I should share what I wrote for the mock keynote. Here it is:

Hello, my name is Tracy Castro-Gill and I am the 2019 PSESD Regional Teacher of the Year. This label is the most recent in a long history of labels, each playing a role in the development of the person standing here.

I have worn the labels of


I was born to a Mexican-American father and white mother.


I am the oldest of three siblings. I have two younger brothers.


I received most of my K-12 education in Norwalk, California, a predominantly Mexican-American community.


Though I am multiracial, my outward appearance and surname signaled to others that I am Chicana, and that is the identity I embrace.


Traitor to La Raza

My paternal grandfather believed that full assimilation into “American” culture was the best thing for his family, and so my father and his siblings weren’t taught to speak Spanish. It was also illegal to speak Spanish in schools. Language is so integral to culture, and the fact that I didn’t speak it earned me this label. I didn’t fully fit in with my Chicanx peers.


On the other hand, many white peers rejected me because I was not white.

Gang member

In trying to figure out exactly how I fit into a racialized world, some of the only Chicanx spaces I was welcomed into were violent ones. Many of my Chicanx peers had bought the narrative that prison and gang culture were synonymous with Chicanx culture.

Drug addict

Of course, this usually comes with the territory of violence and gangs. Plus, I was lost and would do anything to belong to a circle of friends that I could identify with. Drugs were often a common tie.

Teen mom

I had my first son when I was 17 and the second when I was 18.

Unwed mother


I eventually married the father of my children.

Domestic abuse survivor

But because we married too young for wrong reasons, this title was forced on me.


After 17 years, I woke up and moved out. This was when I went back to school to complete my B.A.


My middle child gave me this title.

University graduate

I graduated from the University of Washington shortly after moving to Seattle to be with the man that would be my second husband.


I earned my teaching certification and Master’s degree in 2013.

Racial justice activist

I sought out this title as soon as I became a teacher. Once I began teaching in Seattle, I was pulled into union organizing around racial justice with Seattle Education Association’s Center for Race and Equity. Through that work I was recruited to a grassroots effort to bring Ethnic Studies to K-12 classrooms in Seattle Public Schools.


This past February, I lost the love of my life unexpectedly to a heart attack. My husband was my biggest cheerleader, and after his death, I received notes from his co-workers, people I had never spoken to. One of them read, “Brian would always speak about how proud he was of you, and how you are a racial justice teacher.”

And now, Teacher of the Year.

Some would argue that labels are superficial, but for me, they are battle scars. I wear my labels and share them because it’s important for people to know what people of color face in our current education system, but sharing them opens deep wounds, and almost always, those wounds grow deeper when people respond to my labels. Almost always, the response is, “Wow! You are a fighter! You are so strong. What a story of resilience and overcoming the odds! You deserve all the success you’ve earned.”

But this is not why I share my story and my labels. It isn’t a story of resilience and victory. It’s a story of trauma and injustice.

Don’t talk to me about strength! Talk to me about justice.

It’s taken me years of therapy to cope with the trauma, anxiety, and PTSD from my experiences. To credit that to strength seems disingenuous. It’s taken a lot of hard work. Talk to me about justice, instead.

Don’t talk to me about resilience! Talk to me about equity.

I didn’t have any role models that looked like me, either Chicanx or multiracial. This lends to my Imposter Syndrome, not fully believing in my full potential even as I stand before you as Teacher of the Year. Where is the support for educators of color? Talk to me about equity, instead.

Don’t talk to me about who deserves what. Talk to me about our shared humanity!

Every human deserves the best opportunities and supports. Talk to me about humanity, instead.

I share my labels in an attempt to prevent other people from having to fight and survive like I did, but too many people completely gloss over those experiences because it’s uncomfortable for them. They don’t want to learn about why I went from student to gang member. They want to focus on university graduate or Teacher of the Year. They don’t want to hear how my experiences with white supremacy in schools and curriculum sent me down a road looking for my culture, and they especially don’t want to hear the story about how white supremacy has constructed a narrative about Mexican-Americans being gang members and drug addicts that led me to the same conclusion.

They don’t want to hear about how I narrowly avoided the school to prison pipeline by becoming pregnant in my junior year of high school. My oldest son saved my life in a lot of ways, because being responsible for another human being was an awakening and a calling to a higher purpose for me, but also sent me into decades of poverty and domestic abuse. Nobody wants to hear about that part of the story of my labels.

Education liberated me, but only because I had to fight for it. This should not be celebrated, it should be fixed! No student should have to fight for their education and success. No student should be celebrated for “beating the odds,” because THERE SHOULD BE NO ODDS TO BEAT!

This is why I have spent my entire teaching career dedicated to racial justice and the teaching of Ethnic Studies. Ethnic Studies is a liberating experience for me as an educator teaching it and for the students engaged in it. I have seen so many students re-humanized through it. They come to the understanding that they can change the course of our country, and that we all have a shared humanity and responsibility to care for one another.

I am not here today to celebrate my newest label of Teacher of the Year. I’m here to wear it as another battle scar and use this platform to lift up the stories like mine in order to bring change. I don’t want this label to be used as another feel good, “See… if this Latina can do it, anyone can,” story; the myth of meritocracy. I want people to know that our education system is broken, racist, and failing students of color.

The education system also marginalizes and pushes out educators of color who have been proven to have greater success of closing gaps of discipline, attendance, engagement, and graduation rates for all students, but especially students of color. Data shows us that educators of color are disciplined at similar rates of students of color, which in some instances have been recorded at eight times the rate of their white peers.

I am being recognized for my great teaching and leadership, and the impact I’ve made in my district, but I want to make it clear that the driving force behind all that I’ve accomplished in my life and in my career comes from the personal pain and trauma I’ve experienced and the pain and trauma I see on my students’ faces everyday. I work with a sense of urgency to liberate our education system from the grips of white supremacy and racial injustice. I work to empower educators and students to lead from their own experience so the generations behind them won’t have to “beat odds” to wear labels like Teacher of the Year.

The Racially Coded Language in “Closing Opportunity Gaps”

Not so long ago in Seattle Public Schools there was an elementary school administrator forced out of their position by an angry community. There were a lot of reasons given for this ousting with only a few that I, personally, can confirm, but what I want to focus on is the people who defended this administrator. The evidence they pointed, and continue to point to when the subject comes up is the fact that student test scores, particularly in math, increased exponentially.

Now, this school has a high population of students of color, and Seattle Public Schools does have a big push for “closing opportunity gaps” between white and non-white students, particularly African-American students. So, on the surface, higher test scores do look like a huge accomplishment. The problem, then? These “opportunity gaps” are almost exclusively measured by standardized test scores. Sometimes, the gaps also consider disproportionate discipline data, but the district puts the most money, effort, and staffing behind improving test scores. In fact, in the current contract negotiations between Seattle Education Association and Seattle Public Schools, educators are demanding restorative justice coaches in every school and the district continues to shut it down citing lack of money. Go to any school in the district, however, and you will find math coaches, literacy coaches, math and literacy tutors, math and literacy after school programs, and even math and literacy “academies” during holiday breaks.




Going back to disproportionate discipline – Studies continue to show that students engage more in curriculum that includes critical, culturally responsive content and pedagogy. Learning to take a test is exactly the opposite of that, and that’s what a lot of kids are doing, especially in schools with majority student of color populations. That’s what was happening in the school in question. Some educators report they were instructed by the administrator to only teach math and literacy. Social studies, science, and the arts were not allowed. According to teachers, the administrator only allowed science to be taught once they proved it was also tested. Additionally, the curriculum that literacy teachers were forced to use was meant to be remedial curriculum. Again, I cannot confirm this, but I can speak from my own experiences and say that these claims make perfect sense.

The school I taught in has social studies and arts and science, but it’s a middle school where kids move from class period to class period, so it’s a little harder to take those away, but it happens. The school I taught at also has a majority student of color population and has been recognized for “closing opportunity gaps.” Many students, however, don’t get to partake in the great art and social justice electives that are available because they are in second and third reading, writing, and/or math classes euphemistically titled “reading empowerment” and “math empowerment.” I taught the former for two years. The courses were a semester long, so I taught four sections of it in those two years. In those two years I had one white student, and all of the students who came to me were chosen because they did not meet standard on the Smarter Balanced Assessment.

These “empowerment” classes count as an elective because they are in addition to any other math or reading/writing class kids are enrolled in. That means they miss out on art, languages, music, and social justice offerings. In a seven period schedule, students get two electives, and too many kids are stuck using those slots for math and reading “empowerment.” Often times, they are also asked, and their parents are coerced, into sending kids to after school tutoring for math and/or reading instead of the enrichment programs like underwater robotics, urban arts, and the gender and sexuality alliance. Right before the testing season, these “empowerment” opportunities ramp up, and kids are “invited” for “extra help” to pass the math SBA. These opportunities happen during electives, so if they are lucky enough to get art or music, they are pulled from those classes weeks before the test for “extra help.” (See featured image of an actual call slip I got for one of my students to skip their art class to get “extra help.”)

All of this focus and pressure to incessantly practice and be prepared for tests usually comes in the form of practice tests. This isn’t critical, culturally responsive content and pedagogy! “We are killing kids with math,” is what I have been known to say a few times. They begin to act out in class, in the halls, and at recess. They become irritable and disrespectful. They are kicked out of class and lash out at everyone, not because they are bad kids, but because they are BORED! They are disengaged from the learning, if it can be called that. Then they are punished, ridiculed, suspended, and labeled. The goal of this disciplinary action? To get them to be quiet and practice the test, and since kids of color are lagging behind due to the inherent racism in the practice of standardized testing, the discipline gap continues to grow. Ever heard of the School to Prison Pipeline? I’ve seen it unfold before my eyes, and testing is its main artery.




Hopefully we’re aware of how language is sometimes racially coded. Some might use the term “dog whistle.” “Thug” is the new N-word. “Sketchy” is often used to describe places where Black and Brown people live. Sarah Palin’s infamous “schuck and jive” comment, and most recently the Florida GOP candidate who warned voters not to “monkey this up” and vote for his opponent, Andrew Gillum, a Black man, are all examples of racially coded language. The argument I’m attempting to make here is that “closing opportunity gaps” is coded language for denying a comprehensive, critical, and enriching education to students of color.

My assertion is that math and literacy are not the end all, be all of education. Again, studies show that the arts and humanities improve learning and engagement, but those are harder to test and measure. I argue that reading and writing are equally challenging to test and measure, especially since the kids who came to me for reading “empowerment” were excellent readers who failed the racist test. But, testing companies can’t make money off of the other content areas, so literacy and math it is. That’s literally the only reason there is so much emphasis put on the two. I failed math all through high school and barely made it through college. I have a graduate degree and earn more than the average American, and I LOVE MY JOB! We have been forced by Corporate America to define success with testing data. According to them, I would be a failure.

“Closing opportunity gaps” is racially coded because it explicitly targets students of color without explicitly naming them and denies them access to the same quality and content of education as their white counterparts in order to meet this arbitrary definition of success. Standardized testing is racist from its inception and at its core. It’s racist in practice, and it’s racist in its enduring impact on students, families, and communities. I’m also known to say, “We can’t have Ethnic Studies and standardized testing.” It’s time for all of us to say, “We can’t have racial justice and standardized testing.”




I’ve always been told that educators are under some kind of gag order and aren’t allowed to talk to families about their right to opt out of standardized testing. I recently found out that in my district, that’s not true. There is nothing stopping us from doing so except for overbearing administrators whose job evaluations are heavily dependent on testing scores. Check the actual policy in your district and encourage families to opt out if you can! I opt my child out every year. I also teach my students about the racist history and impacts of standardized testing.

Here’s what I sent to my child’s teachers and administrators today. Feel free to copy and paste:


My child will not participate in any standardized testing in any content area, nor will they engage in practice or mid-year standardized testing. This includes, but is not limited to the SBA, MAP, or any state or federal mandated or suggested standardized testing for the 2018-2019 school year.


There are hundreds of opt out networks on Facebook alone and the #OptOut movement on Twitter. The National Education Association and the NAACP recently came out against standardized testing as well as other education associations, including Seattle Education Association who voted for a moratorium on all standardized testing. This motion was endorsed by Dr. Ibram X Kendi, author of Stamped from the Beginning. We need to build coalitions between families and educators who are against testing and ban this racist practice that perpetuates the systemic oppression of communities of color.

Decolonizing Education Through Dismantling Hierarchies: Reflections on Dismantling Classroom Hierarchies

photo credit:



At the root of everything I’ve written in this series is unconditional love. Dismantling hierarchies, self reflection, leading and acting from the heart with the community, trust… all of these things require unconditional love. I guess some people would call that humanism. Humanism proposes that we have the solutions to meet our needs. “We” is the key, and the composition of “we” is going to change depending on the need.


Here, I want address the needs in a classroom. As educators, we should know that these needs vary from place to place, content to content, school to school, grade to grade, etc. This idea that one solution fits all needs to go. Even things like charters, RULER, and other PBIS systems fall short to adequately consider differences. Often times, these protocols are only used in schools with high student of color population, which reinforces data that shows we approach students of color as deficits.


If we love our students, we can trust them to decide how their education will be experienced, at least in our classrooms. We have to accept that we are only older, maybe wiser, and hopefully more experienced at certain things, but we are not experts on their needs. They are.




First and foremost, step back. Every year I give my introductory, “Welcome to Ms. Gill’s class” speech, and part of it is me explaining how I am only at the front of the class by virtue of age and formal education. I tell stories of how I’ve learned from my students and how impressed I am each year by the knowledge and wisdom that sixth graders bring to the classroom. I then go on to teach them the difference between banking education and problem posing education. In these lessons, I emphasize challenging how they’ve been taught to learn.


For example, one of the first activities is one in which they work in groups to design a video game based on my “Welcome to Ms. Gill’s class” presentation. In my presentation I talk about where I grew up, my family, what I like to do, what books I read, etc. Then I tell them to design a video game based on that. What a vast majority of the kids fail to do is ask additional questions. I walk about the room and they happily share with me their witty designs (for real, they’re so creative!), but they never stop and ask, “Hey… do you even play video games?” or, “What’s your favorite kind of video game?” Once in a while I’ll get one or two, “What’s your favorite weapon?”


After everyone’s finished and they present their video games, I show them screenshots of the games I do play, and point out that nobody asked. Then we talk about what it means to be institutionalized and how they’ve been taught to be passive learners. We then proceed on to other activities that have no right answer, but have a lot of questioning and sharing of opinions. Students really struggle with that, but by the end of the school year, that’s all they want to do.


We assume the formation of opinion is something that’s innate. It may be, but sharing it in public isn’t. Students need direct instruction on that. They need encouragement. I find that they’ve been conditioned to only speak if they are sure they have the “right” answer. This is a direct result of hierarchies and educators believing they “know more” than kids. We don’t give them space to question, challenge, make mistakes, come to consensus through discussion, or heaven forbid – fail! The first step to deconstructing hierarchies is for you to step back and facilitate these opportunities for your students.




This is hard. I know it is, and it’s necessary. We must not judge our students. Judgement is the result of hierarchies and the belief that we are in some way better than those we judge. We must not judge them when they don’t do their homework. We must not judge them when they sleep in class. We must not judge their parents for these things, either. As a parent that last part is even harder, but as a parent that’s experienced poverty and homelessness, it’s a little easier for me than some of my colleagues.


We talk a lot about “meeting students where the are,” but I get the feeling that mantra stops at academic readiness, and does not extend to social/emotional readiness. This does not mean, however, that we lower expectations for our students. It just means we understand humanity is complex, and we give leniency and grace where we can. We will never know what other human beings are going through. Even if their circumstances could be exactly the same as yours, their human reaction to it won’t be. Love and acceptance will have a greater impact on your students.


When we address “disruptive” or “destructive” behaviors with our students, we should 1) listen more than we speak, 2) remember that we may never know or understand the whole story, 3) validate the student’s experiences and feelings, 4) ask for a solution from the student while offering support toward that solution, 5) make sure that student knows we love them. This won’t always work the first or fifth time, and it may never work. There are some students who have experienced so much trauma they are beyond our reach. That’s hard to accept, but remember it’s not about you. It’s not about the student, and humans are not inherently “bad.” Seek help without judgment if you can’t meet a student’s needs. That includes unconditional love for yourself and not judging your inability to reach every student. We are humans, too. Deconstructing hierarchies includes allowing ourselves grace and accepting we can’t do and be all.




I know a lot of us cringe at this phrase. One reason could be the pressure put on us to make sure every kid is “behaving” every second of every day to get as much instruction time as possible. It makes us feel like we have to be watching at all times and driving the kids to sit quietly with their noses in books or essays all of the time. Nonsense! Classrooms should be noisy most of the time! There are appropriate times for silent, independent work, but I believe that if people aren’t talking and laughing, they’re not truly learning.


We need to reimagine what management of a classroom looks like. First of all, it should be managed by the kids themselves. In my classroom there is one rule: respect. I started out this practice by having the kids define what that means to them, but quickly discovered they don’t even know. So now I tell them we will define it as we go, and it may change over the course of the year. This is where class meetings and restorative justice circles come in. This is where respect is defined, practiced, demanded, and restored.


Classroom meetings and restorative justice circles are great spaces for reflection and transformation IF the teacher can take a step back and allow students to facilitate their own meetings and discussions. This will generally require some direct instruction in the beginning and a lot of practice, but it can be magical. I’ve seen disruptive students completely turn around without me saying a word to them because their classmates addressed it and resolved it in class meetings.


This is a great practice for dismantling hierarchies only if the adults trust the students with decision making and follow through with what the students have decided is best for their classroom. The rule is we will try anything (within reason and what is legal) as long as we come back to it in the next meeting if it’s not working. The only thing I will interject into decision making is the result of natural consequences. For example, students will say, “We should have class meetings every day,” so I will remind them if they choose that option, they will still be held accountable for getting their lessons completed, so that may result in more homework. Usually they’ll vote it down after that, but if they don’t, I hold them to it. It’s not a punishment for their decisions, it’s just the natural consequence of using class time for things other than lessons.




Lastly, what and how the kids learn. I am passionate about ethnic studies and liberatory education. We can’t do either if we are not promoting and facilitating uninhibited dialogue. My rule as a parent and teacher is if they’re savvy enough to question it, they’re mature enough to hear an honest answer. Bringing this into the classroom means they’re mature enough to discuss it with their peers. Don’t fool yourself into thinking similar conversations aren’t happening in the halls, at lunch, or on the playground. Bringing natural curiosity and discussion into the classroom is a healthy way to approach learning.


I do not censor the discussions of my students. I don’t allow them to be offensive or use racial or xenophobic slurs, but I also don’t tone police, correct their language, or even prohibit profanity. I let them be them and discuss their learning in ways that make sense to them. Anything less is imposing an etiquette rooted in the belief of white supremacy and patriarchy. The word “fuck” might be offensive to you, but I love it. My idea of an offensive word is more like “assimilation.” What is considered offensive and appropriate is often arbitrary and, again, based in white heteropatriarchy. Dismantling hierarchies using unconditional love and trust means accepting our students for who they are, including the ways in which they choose to express themselves.


*Disclaimer: I don’t want anyone to think I’m claiming to be perfect and do these things all of the time. I have judged students and parents. I have policed language until I realized I shouldn’t, and the transformation of my classroom from me managing it to students managing themselves was messy and complicated – and still can be! But I have to go back to the idea that I am not an expert. If I thought I was I would be perpetuating hierarchies instead of dismantling them and I wouldn’t ever try anything new. Just as our students have been conditioned to fear failure, we have too. Don’t be afraid to fail, and don’t be afraid to share that failure with your students. It’s a way we can share our humanity with them.

This Isn’t a Blog Post!

I know I made a commitment to post every Sunday, but you guys! I was on the most epic vacation with my child for the past month! We traveled all over Europe, just the two of us: Glasgow, Edinburgh, London, Normandy, Paris, Zurich, and Rome. We took a train through The Chunnel. I drove a car really fast in France! And together we had some amazing experiences.

Now that I’m back State Side, I’m slammed with Ethnic Studies duties! Seattle Public Schools is in the beginning stages of codifying a K-12 Ethnic Studies program, and I feel so fortunate to be on the ground floor, BUT that means less time for blogging. For now, I’m re-blogging my last post, but I will be back in a week with the final post of the four part series just in time for setting up your classroom (I hope!).

Decolonizing Education Through Dismantling Hierarchies Part 3: Dismantling Knowledge Hierarchies


Decolonizing Education Through Dismantling Hierarchies Part 3: Dismantling Knowledge Hierarchies


What is knowledge? Without looking at a dictionary, I would define knowledge as an accumulation of facts and ideas through life experiences and education that shape our convictions and paradigms. What I really want to unpack here, though, is how we qualify education, and how it creates what I’m calling “knowledge hierarchies.” In part 3 of this series, I’m going to argue that we equate education with knowledge and ability – falsely. I recognize that, as educators, thinking otherwise will challenge our own paradigms, but challenge them I will!

First, let’s look at some people who are “educated” in the formal sense:

George W. Bush, Yale 1968

Sarah Palin, University of Idaho 1987

Donald Trump, Wharton School of the University of Pennsylvania 1968

I thought about listing more, but I think those three will help make a point.

“Professional women and men of any specialty, university graduates or not, are individuals who have been ‘determined from above’ by a culture of domination which has constituted them as dual beings.” You guessed it, Freire. Here’s where we equate education as not only knowledge, but also as a way to define “leader.” School administrators are almost always determined from above without regard for the wants and needs of the community of their school(s). Generally, they are chosen because of their education status and how long they’ve been an educator. Their skills and accomplishments may be taken into consideration, but education status is a gatekeeper. This creates a situation in which the administrator believes they know best because they were chosen by an elite group. Consequently, they “lead” with their ego instead of their heart and love of their community.

Formal education measures a person’s ability to attend a university, and their ability to complete a degree program. That’s it. A formal education may deliver knowledge to an individual they did not previously have, but it is in no way an indicator of that individual’s ability to perform any type of job or responsibility. For evidence, see the above list.

I make this argument as a person who has 3 degrees and intends on obtaining a fourth. Let me explain why I have them and intend on getting more, and then I will explain how I believe we can work to dismantle knowledge hierarchies from within the hierarchy.


I grew up in a fairly poor family who struggled to make ends meet in a fairly poor exurb of Los Angeles. I knew no one with a college degree besides my teachers, doctors, etc, but was convinced education was my way out of poverty. Once I became pregnant at age 17, I knew for sure that college was what would save me and my future child. Unfortunately, I became pregnant again at 18, and college had to take a back seat. Because I was a teenage mom twice over, my family experienced extreme poverty. My husband became abusive, and when I hit rock bottom, I committed to earning my degree at any cost.

Going to college full time and being a mom caused the abusive relationship to reach new heights and I left my husband before graduating. At that point, I had no other choices. I was living off student loans and living with my parents, who thought I should have been working instead of going to school. I stuck with it, though, and here I am with a Master’s degree and teaching middle school. I don’t make a ton of money, and I’m $70,000 in debt, but I’m better off than I was all those years ago. My education saved my life and gave me the ability to help my children.

Did I gain knowledge in college? I guess I picked up some facts and trivia fodder. I maybe changed the way I thought about a few things… but not anything significant that I can think of. I was able to put labels on things I understood about life and the world prior to having a formal education. My education definitely did not prepare me to walk into a classroom and teach students who need a lot more than education. I would say that most of the success I’ve had as a teacher comes from my life experiences and my ability to relate to and unconditionally love my students.

This is the knowledge hierarchy trap. For many people experiencing poverty, who are disproportionately people of color, formal education, if achieved, is an act of survival more than anything. What does that mean for the millions of others who don’t have access to it? Are they any less capable or knowledgeable? My argument is that they are not, and we should not exclusively measure knowledge or ability with formal education.


As previously mentioned, I plan on returning to school to obtain a doctorate degree. After what I’ve just said about formal education, you may be wondering why I would bother. Well, now that I am out of survival mode and have been working in education as a teacher activist, I realize that formal education plays an additional role for marginalized and oppressed people: resistance and liberation.

With as much as I have accomplished with institutionalizing racial justice in the form of ethnic studies, I have definitely hit a credibility ceiling because I’m “just a teacher.” A PhD or EdD after my name would get me into conversations where my ideas could have more weight. It would get me into meetings with people who are resistant to change, not because they respect me, but because they respect the title. Fighting within the system sometimes requires us to use the infrastructure of the system we’re trying to dismantle.

The problem, however, is that many people who hit the credibility (or income) ceiling obtain their credentials for the wrong reasons. How many school administrators who you know are in it for the love of people and community? How many school administrators actually get behind racial justice instead of paying lip service? How many school administrators actively challenge the status quo and put their jobs on the line to fight systemic racism in our schools? I’ve met great educators that go to school to be school administrators and come out as different people. Recently, I applied to a graduate program that included obtaining administrator credentials and was told I would need to “step away from racial justice work to study leadership.” I spent a lot of time in that conversation arguing how one is not separate from the other, but my argument wasn’t being heard. I decided to pass on that program, but it explains why we have the type of administrators we do.


I believe a solution to this problem is for more critically aware educators to go into administration. We tend to avoid it because of its current state, but if we are going to be effective in making structural changes we need to leave the silos of our classrooms. I’ve struggled greatly with this. I love my students, and I went into teaching to love and teach young people, but the more I’m in the classroom seeing the inequities and how we are hurting them, the greater the urgency to change the system becomes.

It’s not enough to have more administrators of color. It’s not enough to have white allies as administrators. We need accomplices who are committed to building a true community that values the voices of all regardless of education status; who lead equitably, providing a space for the voices of the oppressed in their community. We need leaders who recognize their position as in contradiction to both the oppressors and the oppressed and who actively work to dismantle the structures that create this triangular leadership. This means challenging and rejecting oppressive structures and practices like standardized testing, disproportionate discipline of educators of color, recruitment and retention of educators of color, and, of course, dismantling hierarchies to achieve decolonization of education.

If this is not the goal of administrators, we only serve to perpetuate white supremacy, white saviorism, and the tokenization of administrators of color. If we, as people of color, are taking positions of leadership to fulfill a diversity quota without this critical consciousness, the harm to our students is exponentially greater than if we are a white administrator. First, we perpetuate white supremacy, and second, we teach students of color that the desired goal as a person of color is to assimilate instead of fight for racial justice. It’s not enough to just be the person of color in the room.