Beginning of Year Reflections
Summer Book Club for Educators (July-August 2025)
A group of educators met over the past three weeks to read and discuss Original Sins by Eve L. Ewing. Our meetings have been nurturing for the soul as we shared personal stories and takeaways from the book. When we checked-in at our last discussion, the Friday before school begins for teachers, we shared that we were feeling a mix of emotions - anxious, exhausted (already), hopeful, nervous, excited. One thing was for sure - the beginning of this year was going to be particularly chaotic with the budget cuts, staffing changes and shortages, and uncertainty on top of the usual shifting student rosters, classroom set-up, and PD schedules.
The beginning of the year can be the most taxing on our mental, physical, and emotional well-being, and it is perhaps the most important time to be grounded and set intentions for ourselves and for the kind of classroom community we want to build. I am so grateful for our book club for allowing us that time and space, and wanted to share the takeaways from our discussion of the conclusion of Ewing’s book in the hopes they resonate with you, too.
In her book, Ewing details how schools at its origin were mirrors for society’s racist beliefs of Black and Native peoples and also how schools perpetuate and uphold three pillars of American racism - intellectual inferiority, social control, and economic subjugation. Her thesis is a sober reminder that this institution of schooling is a crucial part of systems that have harmed and continues to harm Black and Native children and, in doing so, dehumanizes all of us.
As we begin the year with our students, perhaps we can model and lean into relationship-building through intimacy and vulnerability in community. Ewing includes a quote from Chris Finley’s “Building Maroon Intellectual Communities” at the beginning of the chapter: “After all, isn’t working together a move toward intimacy? Hasn’t this always been a bit icky, scary, and awkward? Why do we expect each other to be perfectly formed political subjects when we have all been institutionalized to think badly of each other and ourselves?” (p. 249) We can acknowledge that we are all learning and changing and evolving from being socialized. We won’t be perfect, and instead of tearing each other down, we can move together towards more just and joyful ways of being.
Relatedly, Ewing reminds us that if we are serious about solidarity, which is “the fact of being in league with one another and committed to one another’s survival and thriving,” then we need a fundamental shift towards an ethics of care (p. 254). In order to make decisions and work against systems that are designed to control bodies, disappear systems of knowledge and culture, internalize racist ideas, and promote apathy, we must remember that our students are whole people first. They are not statistics, not machines, not needing to be “civilized,” but human bodies who require safety, food, rest, movement, and social and emotional care first. We can extend that care to ourselves as educators as well - there will be many times when we need to check-in with what our own bodies need and when we may need to take a breath, a pause before reacting.
Understanding the original purpose of schools allows us not to fall into despair but take action where we are. She writes, “the things that happen in schools are a broader reflection of the society we have all committed to making and participating in, and therefore it’s incumbent upon all of us to think about how to change it from wherever we sit” (p. 258). We shared the metaphor of planting seeds as a way to think about our work as educators - by the way we show up for ourselves and our students, the language we use to talk with students, expectations we hold and the support we give our students, and more. And we do this knowing that we are part of the generational work of resistance and creativity that have come before us and that others will take on after we leave our classrooms.
The abolition of schools as we know them necessarily involves our ability to imagine and dream new worlds that center Black and Native children: “We can make schools for us - schools that are loving and nourishing, schools that celebrate our languages and cultural histories and intergenerational bonds, schools that teach stewardship and care of the land and of one another.” According to UIC Professor David Stovall, abolitionism gives educators permission to be creative, experiment, play, be empowered, and take risks towards our radical visions.
Lastly, Ewing uses a beautiful metaphor of braiding to describe teaching and learning towards liberation as ultimately an act of love. Ewing credits Sara Lawrence-Lightfoot with telling her “When we approach our work with love - what what she calls the ‘search for goodness’ - it allows us a fuller picture of the people are places we are encountering: ‘I want to know what’s good here. What’s worthy here. What’s strong here. What’s resilient here. Where the survival roots come from, and where the creative and expressive roots come from that produced this community and these people’ ” (p. 267). In direct contradiction to the deficit thinking, saviorism, and racial stereotypes that abound in schools, we can approach our work with love for our students, for the communities we serve, and for a vision of education that is healing and transformative.
