Recent years have seen an explosive expansion of new technologies of surveillance installed not just in the wider community, but also in UK secondary schools. Although there has been much discussion devoted to these new technologies and their impact in general, as an educational phenomenon, surveillance in schools is only just beginning to receive media and academic attention (for example, Hope, 2009; McCahill and Finn, 2010; Taylor, 2013). Schools have installed Closed Circuit television cameras (CCTV), metal detectors, alcohol and drug testing, chipped identity cards and electronic registers, biometric tools such as iris and finger print recognition, and cyberspace surveillance including webcams and websites hosting student data for parental access, among others (Hope, 2009). There have been reports of systems to log what a pupil chooses for lunch so parents can check their child’s diet (UK Press Association, 2009) and of CCTV cameras being installed in school toilets (Chadderton, 2009).
Even as I continue doing the work of preparing the next generation of scholars and practitioners’ to engage criticalrace media literacy, I am convinced there is much more to do to make these analytical tools accessible for wider audiences (e.g., Alemán, 2014). This need has become amplified in our contemporary moment. Thousands of protestors took to the streets in summer 2018 when the news media reported on the U.S. government’s purposeful orphaning of mainly Central American asylum-seeking children. The pictures and video clips smuggled out of the detention centers offered a heart wrenching glimpse of men, women, and children in cages, and the audio clips of children crying and negotiating for their freedom were haunting. News outlets scrambled to piece together narratives of these families and the countries they came from, but rarely mentioned the conditions of violence, climate change, and dire poverty driving these predominantly indigenous communities north. Even within more nuanced news discussions, there was almost no attempt at offering a broader historical context that included the political and economic relationship between the U.S. and these countries (e.g., Galeano, 1997; Sassen, 1992). Collective memory is a powerful tool often underestimated when thinking about media analysis. I was reminded of this when news stories began surfacing about many protestors recognizing the dehumanizing treatment of child and family detainees as connected to the internment of Japanese Americans during WWII, to the separation of Native American children from their families in boarding schools, and to the cruelties inflicted on the Jews in concentration camps. They called on an intergenerational history of trauma and mobilized against the flagrant violations of human rights by the Trump administration. As they contested the majoritarian narrative, they constructed a racial counterscript. I take heart in these reclamations of our shared humanity, and I offer this essay with renewed appreciation for Freire’s assertion that “critical reflection is also action” (p. 109).
Nevertheless, this Atlantic crossing (which is yet another instance in the long history of intellectual exchanges within what Gilroy, 1993b, terms black Atlantic culture) warrants critical reflection. One reason for scrutinising CRT’s transfer is that North American CRT has uttered its key conceptual claims in both global and local registers. Thus, speaking ‘globally’, Taylor (2009, 4) draws on Charles Mills’ dictum that ‘Racism is global White supremacy and is itself a political system, a particular power structure of formal and informal rule, privilege, socio-economic advantages’. However, CRT’s ‘local’ origins lie specifically in the break with the American Critical Legal Studies movement made during the 1970s by legal scholars such as Bell and Crenshaw, who insisted upon the need for a race conscious analysis of race in US legislation, as opposed to slippage into regarding race as merely a technology of class (Crenshaw et al, 1995). Some of CRT’s key analytical tools, such as interest convergence, contradiction closure and storytelling were crafted out of revisionist critiques of US civil rights law’s liberal assumptions. In addition, the paper that more than any other signalled the transfer of CRT to the field of education, Ladson-Billings and Tate’s (1995) ‘Towards a CriticalRace Theory of Education’, speaks CRT at this local level. So, for instance, its propositions around race and property include assertions that ‘Race continues to be a significant factor in
As evidenced in the quotes above, in this context White and good became synonymous, and the students saw themselves and other people of color as deviating from this “norm.” Crim- inality among people of color became the dominant narrative for students, foreshadowing what they believed was a predetermined fate. Schooling, according to the students’ expe- riences, offered few counter-narratives—perspectives that challenge and have the potential to disrupt the problematic perceptions of people of color, replacing them with a more ac- curate, more positive, and more robust depiction of minoritized communities. The partic- ipants in this study, like most students of color across the country, attended a segregated school, didn’t see people of color widely represented in the teaching force or in other prom- inent jobs in their communities, and didn’t have access to a rigorous curriculum that would prepare them for a more optimistic personal trajectory. There is a pervasive stereotype that students of color, and Latino students more specifically, are apathetic about education; some have even suggested this to be a cultural trait (see Irizarry, 2011b). Apathy and lack of ef- fort, as opposed to access to quality educational opportunities, are often cited as the cause for race and class-based disparities in educational outcomes. Conversely, the participants in the study spoke of having high aspirations and levels of engagement with schools, partic- ularly early in their lives. These perceptions shifted over time, resulting in some of the pes- simistic views expressed here. In fact, students claimed that the longer they went to school, and as they grew in age and experience, they started to see what was, in their words, “really out there” for them. Being bombarded with negative depictions of people of color, with few opportunities outside of their homes to engage with counter-narratives, led the participants to often conflate identification with a minoritized racial group and criminality.
By considering the results of this study in alignment with CRT, it is clear that the use of the GRE as a predictor of Black students’ success when, it is, indeed, not an accurate predictor is a way for a system to continue upholding or prioritizing White people, or students, over Blacks. Specifically, the results of the analyses failed to reject two null hypotheses, which means that that GREV and GREQ, do not significantly predict GGPA among Black students. Moreover, the analyses rejected the null hypothesis that the effects of UGPA or GRE scores on GGPA do not vary significantly when disaggregated by race/ethnicity, gender, and degree level. With CRT supporting the racism is inherent within the United States in all tenets of life, it is presumed that it has leaked into education as well. When coupled with the notion that education can elevate one’s financial status and lifestyle, and with the high population of Black people living in poverty, it can be presumed that Black students were not gaining access to the education they sought, which resulted in a lifestyle of poverty that perpetuated. If more Black students had the opportunity to be accepted into graduate school and persist education through completion, the conclusion would be for the poverty rate of Black people to decline. In the following section, the relevance of these implications as related to CRT will be described.
2005). In considering the kind of training necessary, Finn et al. (2005) noted that training ought to relate to law enforcement, teaching, and mentoring—the three primary areas of work police are expected to take up in schools. Finn et al. (2005) found that few SRO programs provide much training before officers are placed in schools, and once they are in schools, the researchers found that little supervision of their work is offered to support their success. The researchers go on to suggest the types of training that officers need (such as basic teaching and counseling skills, the basics of child psychology, working with parents, and reapplying the skillsets they learned in the police academy to the specific needs of schools). Notably, though, Finn et al. (2005) do not mention diversity training, antioppression training, or other forms of training that would directly address the role of race in policing in the United States.
• Critical Path Analysis sounds very complicated, but it's a very logical and effective method for planning and managing complex projects. A critical path analysis is normally shown as a flow diagram, whose format is linear (organised in a line), and specifically a time-line. Critical Path Analysis is also called Critical Path Method - it's the same thing - and the terms are commonly abbreviated, to CPA and CPM.
As this process indicates, despite some resistance from scholars within the academy, American higher education functions as a competitive enterprise and not a charity (Anctil, 2008; Bok, 2009; Pippert, Essenberg, & Matchett, 2013). Even so, Gibbs (2011) argued that higher education marketers should be held to – or hold themselves to – a higher ethical standard than other marketers. Elsewhere, Gibbs (2007) argued that, in some instances, higher education advertising actually subverts the goals of higher education, which include autonomy, critical thinking, and independent action. Gibbs (2007) found this to be the case when the primary intent is to persuade the prospective student versus to inform him/her/them. Bok (2009) observed that higher education and advertising have differing values, because advertisers engage in hyperbole, may omit important facts, and attempt to shape the customer’s perception of the product. Gibbs (2007) cited these practices as manipulative, exploitative, and morally problematic.
perceptions that leaders are in the main male, and White (Logan, 2011). Those that do not fit the prototype are absorbed into these analyses while we learn little about their qualities, experiences and diversity. The contention that Black women as leaders has been the result of little interest in the professions and in sport is the subject of debate (Sanchez-Hucles and Davis, 2010). We know little about their journeys nor their specific contexts from entry to the more senior levels. The marginalisation of Black people at the highest levels of society as leaders is mimicked in sport where prototypes and stereotypes are reinforced in a recursive fashion. For Logan (2011), we still know little about how Black women manage their relative isolation, with fewer mentors and networks. What leadership qualities they may bring to these career pathways and what these strengths reveal about particular forms of leaders, character and their contribution to teams and organisations. It is understood that gender does imprint itself on perceptions of leadership, though where the synthesis of sexism and ‘race’ and intersecting forms of discrimination add complexity to the leadership experience it is only just beginning to be understood (Sanchez-Hucles and Davis, 2010, Borland and
Within the context of this research, what is apparent is that LGTBQ Students of Color often segregate themselves. This is, in some part, a result of student organizations’ lack of culturally inclusive practices which are overlooked or, in some cases, ignored by the institute. I am using the term culturally-inclusive to discuss the queer community of color as a culture. In order to create culturally-inclusive and understanding academic environments, faculty and staff and indeed students need to be aware of and more sensitive to the needs of Gay Students of Color and their experiences. One way to accomplish this is to create discursive spaces for Gay Latino students to share their narratives. In particular, this study focuses on the intersections between culture, race, and sexual orientation with a specific focus on Gay Latino males. In this manner, educators and the larger field of education can improve not only pedagogy, but also policies and practices by having access to these student’s voices/stories (Misawa, 2006).
complexity (Ballengee-Morris & Stuhr, 2001), critiques power (Acuff, 2015; Buffington, 2014), and reflects on the identity and position of the teacher and the learner (Desai, 2000). Art education scholars in the 1990s began to categorize individual lessons, projects, and curriculum artifacts into multicultural taxonomies. Elizabeth Manley Delacruz (1996) conducted a content analysis examining multicultural merchandise marketed to teachers by developing a four tier rubric assessing the ways teachers engaged with each artifact ranging from a focus on ethnic tourism to a concern with social issues. Delacruz concluded that products used in multi-cultural curricula were “perpetuating stereotypical misconceptions, reinforcing monocultural myths, and miseducating students” (1996, p. 85). James Banks (1999) also outlined four different categories for multicultural inclusion including the Contributions Approach that focuses on heroes and holidays, the Additive Approach where culture is discussed but leaves curriculum largely unaltered, the Transformation Approach where curriculum is changed by the inclusion of diverse perspectives, and the Social Action Approach where students take steps to solve social problems. While Delacruz’s rubric assesses the ways students relate to art objects, Banks’ approaches are more concerned with the relationships between objects in the overall curriculum.
97 site for this research project. These online communities, indeed, were rich sources for gathering data since they are a major platform for communication for anti- multiculturalists and a recruitment tool for anti-immigration activism. Not only issues of immigration, ‘foreigners’, and multiculturalism were discussed – covering criticisms on the government’s multicultural policies and pro-migrant NGO activities, assessment of media reports on migrant-related issues, sharing of personal stories, hyperlinks and comments on international news (e.g. European backlash against multiculturalism, Norway shooting in 2011), but also virtually all of their off-line activities were planned, announced, and evaluated through these online communities. In this sense, such online communities are telling examples of how the Internet enables people to ‘sense, listen, feel and be involved intimately in racist culture from a distance’ (Back 2002, 629). Despite the early optimism about the Internet’s potential to create a ‘race-free’ environment where greater democratic participation is possible, it is becoming clear that racial inequality persists no matter how wired we are. Moreover, the Net itself is far from being race-netural in that it continues to generate varying degress of racialized communications and racial identity practices and facilitates new modes of racist imagination (cf. Kolko et al. 2000). Nakamura and Chow-White writes:
The first two WebQuests address the topics of the Salem Witch Trials, McCarthyism, and the Japanese Internment camps; however, students are not asked to consider the role race played in these events. There are no explicit references to race with any of these three topics. Likewise, the Back in Time WebQuest addresses the topics of the Constitutional convention, the battle at Gettysburg, the Apollo 11 space mission, the march on Washington with Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech, and the Underground Railroad but fails to include any explicit reference to race or the role race played in these events. Students are asked to research the event and then imagine that they were present at one of these events and write about their imagined experience. Students are not asked to consider how race would affect their experience within the event. The topic of the Underground Railroad poses the question, “How fearful would you be when Fredrick Douglas asks for your help hiding runaway slaves along the Underground Railroad?” Students are not asked to consider the risks and consequences for an African American who helped hide runaway slaves as
change. But they are there with their Trump and their racism and they say ‘ay ay it’s we have to respect their rights.’ Well what is that, teacher? What about mine and other kids?] While on one hand, the school deemed an El Chapo t-shirt inappropriate because it, in a way, celebrated drug cartels, the school failed to understand how or why the presence of a Donald Trump t-shirt and a demonstration like “build the wall” would not only cause genuine discomfort to Latinx students, but were, in themselves, acts of symbolic violence. Alma was not defending the Chapo shirt, though; she was testifying to school’s inconsistent application of what they considered a “disruption to student learning”— the official language used to determine dress code violations—to be. She was also challenging what and whose rights the school deemed important enough to protect. The image of Trump and the words “build the wall” were protected by the guise of free speech, or as the Mr. Stone put it, “different opinions.” While the Mr. Stone assured me that he had conversation with each of the students involved and that he talked to them about “bullying and respecting people different groups of people”, the core of the issue, racism, remained unacknowledged. Instead, he used the word ‘bullying’ to describe what was, undoubtedly, an act of racism; he erased the role that race and immigration played in the student’s actions. By using ‘bullying’, he also obscured White supremacy. In the end, Alma’s right to a safe learning environment did not match up to the power of White supremacy and the push for silence.
Still ‘insiderness’ and outsiderness is a starting point and an opportunity for the researcher to take advantage of (Kennedy 1995). Given that there were relationships to be developed between black researcher/academic and white interviewees a strategy was employed to make the questions and topics less threatening. Each respondent was given a brief overview of the research inquiry before the interview although aspects of the focus were less explicit than others due to the sensitivity of some of the issues. The need to be careful about elements of the research question can be explained with reference to the ability of some of the research topics to be sensitive enough to make councillors and officers more guarded about their responses to them. Young (1990) suggests that this is because of the political sensitivity of equal opportunities. So to get at these issues the interviewees were allowed to talk about their authority, their performance, their reflections on them thus offering rich data from which to understand their appreciative context. In addition equality and racial equality were used interchangeably as a tactic according to the background or ‘feel’ that the researcher had for each interviewee. Often equality was used as a catchall discussion topic with racial equality work confirmed as the same or different where appropriate. Another logical cause for most of the respondents being defensive and less open was the fact that only one of them was black, and this reflected the ethnic imbalance across and inside each of the local authorities. Their recent aggregate context was one of failure in achieving the aims of their equalities work; therefore there was also the added embarrassment when the results of basic ethnic record keeping were made public. In addition it was not lost upon the interviewees or the interviewer that in all but one case it was a white respondent telling the stories of struggle in sport for black people to a black person. Thus the researcher found it even more important to ensure that the process of triangulation took place across the spoken word within each authority, the written word from documents and also critical voices from outside of each authority (Denzin 1989).
While this is true, there are several aspects that distinguish digital humanities tools from other software. First, there is potential for producing new types of digital objects, due to the fruitful collaboration between humanists, computer scientists and designers in the digital humanities. There are initiatives that think about what would humanistic software look like. As visual theorist and cultural critic Johanna Drucker notices, it is commonly used platforms and protocols are created by disciplines 'whose epistemological foundations and fundamental values are at odds with, or even hostile to, the humanities' and therefore called for 'humanistic computing at the level of design, modelling of information architecture, data types, interface, and protocols'. 118
Part of the problem is that despite the bur- geoning critical scholarship on race in the alterna- tive food movement (e.g., Alkon & McCullen 2011; Ramírez, 2015), surprisingly little has focused on education—a strange absence given education’s role in maintaining racial and class privilege (Anyon, 1997; Bowles & Gintis, 1976; Lipman, 2011; Willis, 1977). A notable exception is the work of Allen and Guthman (2006), who explore the increasing neoliberalization of farm-to-school programs. Etmanski’s (2012) work also provides a welcome departure, exploring how adult educators in the organic farming movement can engage in anti-racist pedagogy, becoming allies with indige- nous movements, and connecting their practice to the rapidly growing food sovereignty movement. The purpose of our commentary is to build on these emerging works in order to transform the dominant discussion about food system education and offer a concrete alternative.
Further research measured the impact of highlighting connectivity on people’s behaviors in the long run, by examining social media. The documentary Planet Earth II was studied for this research, and scholars were able to observe a heightened interest in the species presented in that documentary, as they received increased social media interest up to six months after viewing (Fern á ndez-Belon et al. 7). These results were found by researching 35000 tweets with the hashtag “PlanetEarth2” and comparing the reaction of viewers to different species of the show. By observing the number of visits on these species’ Wikipedia pages as well as Twitter, researchers also discovered that viewers’ interest did not depend on how familiar people were with the species prior to viewing, but rather on how much screen time these species received. These findings led these scholars to advise filmmakers to give longer screen time to endangered species. For more efficient environmental protection, filmmakers must therefore pick their battles and use research based on audience reaction to better build their argument and maximise their impact (Fern á ndez-Belon et al. 7). This is something that Our Planet does quite well. Indeed, despite introducing a high number of environments around the globe, the episodes give a thorough analysis of global warming’s impact on biodiversity. The show’s creators picked a handful of species to receive more screen time than others and used their stories to explain bigger phenomenons, stirring the viewers towards an aspect of global warming or another. Our Planet also seems to rely heavily on previous research, as the narrative techniques used in it are backed by science. The series for instance uses hope to make viewers feel empowered rather than scared, and alternates between revealing hard truths about global warming and hopeful messages about a possible future for the planet. These techniques indeed are highlighted in many studies in this field of research. The following chapter will show how interconnections are highlighted in Blue Planet II .
Uses decodable text based on specific phonics lessons in the early part of the first grade as an intervening step between explicit skill acquisition and the students' ability to read quality trade books. Decodable texts should contain the phonics elements and sight words that students have been taught. However, the text should be unfamiliar to students so that they are required to apply word- analysis skills and not simply reconstruct text they have memorized.
More evidence of the evasiveness of race and racism is visible in the textbook chapters that focused on the history of slavery. The first time race is mentioned within the body of the text is in chapter 2 “The Atlantic Slave Trade”. Under the subheading, “The Treatment of Slaves”, race appears in the following sentence: “Unlike slavery in later years, ancient slavery was not based on race” (Gant-Britton, p. 26, emphasis added). In this chapter, the act of enslaving people is described as a phenomenon that took place in all parts of the world. The author goes on to describe that slavery and the slave trade took place in all parts of the world. For the student this gives the impression that slavery was an acceptable practice based on labor. While historians contend that slavery was practiced well before the late 19 th century, most agree that nothing compared to the scale and brutality of the trans- Atlantic slave trade as well as the racial prejudice that fueled its subsequent expansion. Not only is this fact unacknowledged but the author fails to provide a substantive discussion in this particular passage about the use of chattel slavery in the United States. Hence, the text does not mention in this particular passage how enslaved Africans were viewed as property that could be purchased, sold, traded, abused, and killed. When the topic of slavery in the United States is discussed later, the author shifts the focus from race to economics. For example, the subheading “The Plantation System” in chapter 3 states: