Troublemakers Connecting with Literacy with an Attitude

"A free person recognizes when she or others are being treated as less than fully human. And a free person embraces both her right and her duty to struggle against such treatment and organize with others to do the same as a solidarity community." Preface xvi

"Our schools are designed to prepare our children to take their assumed place in the social order rather than to question and challenge  that order. But we youth in the image of capitalism instead a vision of freedom" Preface xvi

"Thus, the withholding of education is a political tool used to maintain and ensure economic and social underclass. This underclass is defined overwhelmingly by race... in this way, schools are deeply implicated in the systematic maintenance of the racialized American caste system. Intro xxix

Reading Shalaby alongside Finn made me keep coming back to one uncomfortable question: what does it actually mean to be “free” if the system you’re in has already decided your place before you even realize you have choices?

Shalaby’s line that “a free person recognizes when she or others are being treated as less than fully human” really stuck with me. It makes freedom feel less like an abstract idea and more like a responsibility. It’s not just about your own independence, it’s about awareness, and what you do with it. That connects so directly to what Finn is arguing about schools. If students aren’t given the space to question, to push back, or even to see injustice clearly, then they’re not being educated for freedom but rather they’re being shaped for compliance.

And that shaping isn’t random. Finn talks about how different kinds of schools prepare students for different futures, and once you see it, it’s hard to unsee. Some students are encouraged to think critically, take risks, and lead. Others are taught to follow directions, stay in line, and not ask too many questions. Shalaby’s point adds another layer to this. Young people aren’t just passive in this system. They’re already imagining something different. 

What really hit me, though, was the idea that “the withholding of education is a political tool.” That feels very real. It pushes back against the idea that inequality in schools is accidental or just unfortunate. Instead, it suggests that limiting access to meaningful, engaging education—especially along racial and economic lines—actually serves a purpose. It maintains a system. Finn names this through class; Shalaby names it more explicitly as part of a racialized caste system. Either way, the outcome is the same: some students are given the tools to shape the world, and others are not.

At the same time, I keep thinking about classrooms I’ve been in (and am in now), where this isn’t the full story. There are moments where students push back, where they ask questions that disrupt the script, where they bring in their own experiences in ways that shift the conversation. It makes me wonder how much space we’re actually creating for that and how often school structures shut it down without us even realizing it.

I think that’s where Shalaby’s idea of freedom feels most important. If freedom is about recognizing injustice and acting on it, then education can’t just be about content or standards. It has to be about helping students see themselves as fully human, capable of questioning and changing the world around them.

So the question isn’t just whether schools reproduce inequality (they often do), but whether we’re willing to interrupt that. What would it look like to build classrooms that don’t just prepare students for the roles they’ve been assigned, but actually support them in challenging those roles?

Finn's Literacy with an Attitude: A Reflection and Some Connections

This text really bothered me, and honestly I think it started with that one sentence:

"There have been times in history when the prospect of literacy in the hands of the have-nots has been a source of endless angst among the haves. Less than one hundred years after the invention of the printing press laws were passed in England forbidding anyone under the rank of yeoman to read the Bible. Later, when political pamphleteers appeared, taxes were imposed to make pamphlets too expensive for the poor. But in America from colonial times universal literacy (except for slaves} has been the aim. Today we see illiteracy among the have-nots as the source of many social ills.

I get what the author is trying to do—situate literacy as something historically controlled by people in power—but the way he handles slavery feels completely unacceptable, even accounting for the fact that this was written in the 90s. Reducing 400 years of enslaving human beings to a quick parenthetical aside (“except for slaves”) isn’t just an oversight—it fundamentally weakens the argument. It makes it hard to take seriously anything that follows about inequality in schooling when race is treated as an afterthought rather than something deeply intertwined with class, access, and literacy itself.

Because that’s the issue for me—the article talks about working-class vs. middle-class vs. affluent schools as if those categories exist in isolation. But in reality, class is constantly intersecting with race, language, immigration status, and more. Ignoring that makes the analysis feel incomplete at best, and misleading at worst.

That said, I did find parts of the school descriptions really accurate. They actually made me reflect on my own experiences. At my progressive, liberal, and pretty affluent elementary school, learning felt like exploration—something we were empowered to do. There was this sense that knowledge was flexible, creative, and even joyful. Then at my middle-class Catholic school, the shift was noticeable. It felt much more structured, more about discipline and preparation—like we were being shaped into future workers who knew how to follow systems rather than question them.

And I think that’s where my bigger frustration with education systems comes in. So much of schooling feels designed to feed into a larger capitalist structure—sorting, training, and producing rather than liberating.

That’s why I keep coming back to Paulo Freire. His work—especially Pedagogy of the Oppressed—completely shifted how I understand education, international development and humanitarian work. Reading it during my first master’s program in international development was honestly transformative, and it’s a text I’ve gone back to again and again.

Freire’s critique of the “banking model” of education really resonates here—the idea that students are just empty vessels waiting to have knowledge deposited into them. That model lines up perfectly with the kind of schooling that prepares people to fit into existing systems without questioning them. In contrast, his “problem-posing” approach is about dialogue, critical thinking, and co-creation of knowledge. It’s not just about learning facts—it’s about developing critical consciousness, or the ability to recognize and challenge injustice.

That’s also why it makes sense that his ideas are often seen as threatening. If education helps people question power, then of course those in power might try to limit or control it.

It also made me think of Precious Knowledge and the way those teachers used Freire’s ideas in practice—centering students’ identities, histories, and lived experiences, and treating education as a tool for empowerment rather than compliance. That kind of teaching pushes directly against the idea of education as neutral or purely academic.

We only read part of Finn, but I’m really curious how he continues to engage with Freire. Because to me, bringing Freire into this conversation actually exposes what’s missing in Finn’s earlier analysis—especially around race and the deeper purpose of education.

Overall, I think that tension is what I’m sitting with: literacy can be a tool for maintaining systems of power, or it can be a tool for challenging them. And which one it becomes depends a lot on whose experiences are centered—and whose are pushed into parentheses.

If you have not read Pedagogy of the Oppressed- I recommend you read ASAP! I am jealous of everyone reading it for the first time. If you just want a summary, this website is very helpful. 

https://proteanmag.com/2020/09/14/radical-education-an-introduction-to-paulo-freire/

What to Look For in the Classroom: A Mid-Year Teacher's Reflection

Starting mid-year as a teacher in a 7th/8th grade classroom has made me think a lot about what a classroom should actually feel like for students. In our school model, students stay in the same room all day while teachers rotate between classrooms. I also have an advisory group, although I have already changed advisories once this year. Because of this structure, the sense of “ownership” over the space can feel a little unclear. Technically it is the students’ room, but many different teachers teach there throughout the day, so it sometimes becomes difficult to determine who maintains the space or how it should be organized.

This has made me reflect on how classroom environments contribute to student comfort and learning. When teachers move rooms, it can be harder to establish a consistent atmosphere or routines that help students feel grounded. Small things—like where materials go, what is posted on the walls, or how seating is arranged—can change depending on the teacher. At times students even take things down, such as the seating chart, which highlights how fluid the space can feel. It raises the question of how to balance shared ownership between students and teachers while still maintaining structure.

The list of classroom features we reviewed in class was very helpful for thinking through these questions. It gave me concrete things to look for when analyzing whether a classroom environment is welcoming, organized, and supportive of student learning. Moving forward, I plan to use that list to take a closer look at my own classroom practices. Even if the physical room is shared, there may still be ways I can help create a more comfortable and consistent environment for students when I am there.

I am also thinking about how advisory could play a role in shaping the space. Advisory feels like the one time when the room could more clearly belong to the students as a community. I am interested in finding small ways to give students ownership—perhaps through shared norms about maintaining the room, creating student-generated materials for the walls, or having routines that make the space feel more predictable.

Overall, starting mid-year has highlighted how much classroom culture depends not just on the physical room, but on the relationships and expectations built within it. Even in a shared classroom model, I think it is possible to make the space feel welcoming and supportive. This reflection has helped me think more intentionally about how I contribute to that environment and what changes I might try as the year continues.

Advice from The Cult of Pedagogy for Mid-Year Teachers

Step 3: Do a bare-minimum classroom setup.

You could drive yourself crazy trying to get your classroom perfect for your first day. Baby, it’s just not going to happen. You have more important things to do right now. So just make sure you have these things in place:

• A spot on the board for you to write the date, the day’s agenda, and any homework that you’ll assign. Try to keep this place consistent all year, so students get into the habit of looking there for that information.
• A place for students to hand in papers.
• Some basic supplies — something to write on the board with (whatever kind of board it is), a pen and scratch paper for you to take notes to yourself, extra pencils and paper for students who don’t have supplies, and a box of tissues.
• Textbooks, workbooks, or other curricular materials necessary for getting work done.
• A basic familiarity with how your classroom technology works: How to turn on and perform basic functions with the classroom projector, document cameras, interactive white board, and student computers (if any).

https://www.cultofpedagogy.com/teaching-job-middle-of-school-year/?print=print

I am glad that I followed this advice. Starting mid-year with 7th and 8th graders already meant a lot of adjustment, and focusing on those core structures helped me prioritize what students needed most to get through each day.Now that I’ve settled in a bit more, I’m starting to think beyond the basics and consider how the classroom environment itself can help engage students. Because our school uses a model where students stay in the same classroom and teachers rotate, the space can sometimes feel like it belongs to everyone and no one at the same time. That can make it harder to establish a clear sense of ownership or intentional design in the room. At times, things get moved or taken down—like the seating chart—and it raises questions about who is responsible for maintaining the space.

Other People's Children- The Silenced Dialogue

Reading Lisa Delpit in Other People’s Children felt personal to me because I immediately connected her ideas about the “culture of power” to my own experiences living and working abroad. Delpit writes that being explicitly taught the rules of a culture makes it easier to navigate, and I felt the truth of that deeply. There were times in my travels when I felt frustrated and even unintelligent simply because I did not understand unspoken cultural cues.

In Vanuatu, for example, I encountered a very passive communication style that prioritized not upsetting others. Direct disagreement was rare, and feedback was often indirect or softened to preserve harmony. As an American, accustomed to more direct communication, I often struggled to interpret what people truly meant. In classroom settings there was also a strong emphasis on following the model and being the same as others. I sometimes felt disoriented, unsure of expectations, and hyper-aware that I was missing something everyone else seemed to understand intuitively. It was not a lack of intelligence—it was a lack of access to the code.

In Afghanistan, the disconnect felt different but equally powerful. There were cultural norms related to women’s roles and interactions that did not always apply to me as a foreigner. At times I was granted flexibility; at other times I was unsure whether expectations applied to me. That ambiguity created its own kind of tension. I was constantly reading the room, trying to determine which rules governed the moment. .

In Afghanistan- I was often able to do things that other women were not allowed to due to cultural and/or religious norms. Shoveling out the car on the way to a classroom was communicated directly to me as a "man's job". TBH much to my relief!

Photo: On the road in Ghor Province post- TB takeover

Delpit’s argument that students who are not already participants in the culture of power benefit from explicit instruction resonates strongly with these memories. I think about students in my classroom who may feel that same frustration I felt like something important is happening beneath the surface, and they are not quite fluent in it. If I, as an adult professional with years of education, could feel “stupid” when I did not understand cultural cues, how much more vulnerable might students feel when navigating academic language, behavioral expectations, or social norms that are not fully explained?

These experiences make me want to intentionally apply the cross-cultural competencies I have developed to my classroom. Living abroad required me to observe carefully, suspend judgment, seek clarification, and accept that different communication styles are not deficits. I want to bring that same stance to my students. That means being explicit about expectations rather than assuming shared understanding. It also means affirming the value of the codes students already possess.

I am especially struck by how often my students talk about code-switching. Many of them, particularly those preparing to transition to high school, are already aware that they will be navigating more diverse spaces in terms of ethnicity and socioeconomic background. They speak openly about adjusting how they talk, dress, or present themselves depending on context. In some ways, today’s students have more language to describe these shifts than previous generations. There is more public conversation about identity, power, and code-switching. Yet the emotional weight of navigating multiple codes remains real.

This article from NPR Code Switch- has a quote that relates to this directly

I learned early on, thanks to that g-word nonsense, that expertly navigating another culture wasn't a rejection of where I'd come from or a signal that I was any less authentically black. And returning to my roots wasn't being phony or perpetrating a put-on.

It was being fully who I am.

This is a lesson too many other young people from too many other cultures have to learn the hard way — making their way in an American culture that too often still demands assimilation or marginalization.

As more cultures join America's melting pot, that's why code-switching remains so valuable.

It's a reminder to be fully who you are at all times, while making sure you're understood well enough to be valued, respected and considered.

https://www.npr.org/sections/codeswitch/2013/04/10/176234171/learning-how-to-code-switch-humbling-but-necessary

Delpit argues that students must both value their home code and understand the power realities of the dominant one. My own experiences abroad remind me how disempowering it feels to lack access to unspoken rules and how amazing it feels when you do have a better understanding of both codes.

NPR Code Switch Podcast: Dispatches from the School Yard

https://www.npr.org/transcripts/704860132