“I See Myself As a Warrior”: Cultivating Youth Activist Narratives Through Projects of Social Justice

“I See Myself as a Warrior”: Cultivating Youth Activist Narratives through Projects of Social Justice

Dissertation

Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

Tamara T. Butler, B.S., M.A.

Graduate Program in Education

The Ohio State University

2014

Dissertation Committee

Professor Valerie F. Kinloch, Advisor

Professor Beverly J. Moss

Professor Timothy J. San Pedro

Tamara T. Butler

2014

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Abstract

Informed by a critical multicultural framework, this research explores how youth raise awareness, critique inequitable structures, and engage in an array of social justice work. Two research major questions that guide this project are as follows: How do students create youth activist narratives using social justice experiences? What do students’ reflections about the narrative writing process reveal about why they engage in social justice work? In order to answer these questions, I used critical narrative inquiry as I entered a ninth-grade World Humanities classroom at Justice High School for a ten- month qualitative study. In the Humanities classroom, I focused on how students developed social justice projects on a variety of contemporary injustices (e.g., human sex trafficking, domestic violence, discrimination against LGBTQI youth, gentrification) and explored how youth came to understand, speak, and write about social inequities and injustices as well as how they position themselves as advocates, allies, and/or activists.

Through thematic analysis of their Capstone Project, I analyzed how four girls used stories to engage in socially just activist practices. The narratives that emerged from this work can offer insight into how K-20 classrooms can foster partnerships that generate transformative, “activist” curricular engagements. I propose that major implications of this dissertation research will ultimately impact theoretical, methodological, and praxis- oriented understandings of teaching, learning, and sustaining socially just partnerships.

Dedication

Ms. Cecelia (Mama CeCe) Byers,

It is my hope that I will shape future teachers to carry on your legacy of a being creative, compassionate, and committed educator who transformed lives. You encouraged me to “dream, imagine, create, begin, transform, [and] expand.”

Thank you.

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Acknowledgments

“Consider it pure joy, my brothers, whenever you face trials of many kinds, because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance. Perseverance must finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything” (James 1:2-4, NIV)

In the last five months of my doctoral program, I decided that I would commit myself to something new. I decided to start running. Over the years, I envisioned myself as a track star, breaking world records at track meets and working my way up to an Olympic debut. As a person who never ran more than a mile in her life, I joined a half-marathon training group in January and hoped for the best. (As a first-generation college student, I did the same thing in 2009 when I started my doctoral program.)

I soon saw parallels between running and dissertating. “Do you know that in a race all the runners run, but only one gets the prize? Run in such a way as to get the prize” (1 Corinthians 9:24, NIV). When I wanted to quit running, I heard Matt, one of the training coaches, saying, “you can do it”, “you’re doing great”, or “your body wants to run.” I heard his voice as I crossed the finish line of my first 5K (February 2014), as I approached the last ¼ mile of my first 9-mile run (March 2014), and as I tackled the final hill of the Cap City Half-Marathon (May 2014). When I wanted to stop writing, I heard colleagues, relatives, friends, and my advisor-mentor telling me that I am too close to give up. I heard their voices as I tirelessly sorted through books and articles at my dining room table or as I revised chapters, snacked, and stood over my computer as it sat on my kitchen counter.

Therefore, I would like to thank those who pushed me to persevere.

First and foremost, I am grateful for Dr. Valerie F. Kinloch. Thank you for speaking life into me all along the way. Over the past seven years, you have been an unyielding advocate, mentor, comedian, mediator, inspiration, and, most importantly, big sister. Through your giving and listening, you demonstrate how to consistently feed into others and forge genuine relationships built on trust, reciprocity, and transparency. Amid all of the things that come along with being a scholar, you remind me to always make time to take care of me and to never compromise who I am.

As a research assistant, I had the honor of working closely with Dr. Kinloch, who served as the local director for a nationally funded grant entitled, “Bringing Learning to Life.” The grant allowed me to work closely and develop longstanding relationships with students, teachers, and administrators across the school district.

iv This entire dissertation study grew out of those relationships. Therefore, this dissertation would not be possible without genuine conversations I have had with Mr. Logan. I am indebted to him, Mrs. Prince, Mrs. Munroe, and Mr. Sapien for welcoming me into their lives and their classrooms. These four teachers have truly shown me what it means to pick your battles wisely and stay committed to students, social justice, and humanity. Thank you Catalia, Chika, Tay and Josefina for inviting me into your project. I admire each of you for your brilliance, honesty, and beautiful spirit, which I pray that I have conveyed in former presentations and in the pages of this dissertation. To the students and staff (especially Ms. Irving) of Justice High School, thank you.

Thank you to the trailblazers, or phenomenal women who earned their Ph.Ds over the past seven years and motivated me to do the same. I remember when Dr. Detra Price- Dennis submitted her dissertation to Dr. Kinloch during our Spoken Word class. Thank you for showing me what that glorious moment would look like at the beginning of my doctoral program. To “Twin”, Dr. Allison Prasad, thank you for reminding me that us small women who are steadfast can change the world—one counterhegemonic discourse at a time. Thank you Dr. Devyn Gillette, who came, saw, and conquered by completing her Ph.D. at light speed. Thank you to “Mama Ph.Ds”, Dr. Melissa Crum and Dr. Erica Womack, who completed their programs while raising young intellectuals. As I watched them balance the demands of school, work, motherhood, and life, I had no choice than to keep pressing forward.

Thank you to my extended family that showed me that “we are better together.” Two groups have taught me about the many sides of an emerging scholar (how to theorize and socialize)—Cultivating New Voices Among Scholars of Color (CNV) and the Black Graduate & Professional Student Caucus (BGPSC). Thank you CNVers for reminding me about balance, which is ever so important for the “Soul Train” elevator. Through the “CNV takeover”, we are destined to show the world the timeliness and significance of the work we do. Thank you to the BGPSC for being alongside me on this journey. Thank you to the women of “Who Knew? God Knew!” for helping me to understand the power of prayer and carrying me when I stumbled along the way.

I am grateful for accountability partners, the dedicated individuals who never let me settle for being stagnant. Thank you Ms. Kyra G. Jones for keeping me committed to self care. To Dr. Desirée Vega and Dr. Robert A. Bennett, III, thank you for consistently checking on my progress. To Ms. Eyatta “EY” Fischer, thank you for the late nights of productive delirium in Arps, “Cup o’ Woes”, and Thompson. Thank you for being more excited about me completing this process than I was (especially when I felt like I could no longer see the light at the end of the tunnel). Also, to my sista from another, Dr. Emily Nemeth, thank you for being a critical scholar, dance partner, travel companion, fellow cornbread maker—and for being there all along the way.

I am grateful for cheerleaders, the people who cared and pushed me even when things did not make sense. Thank you Mrs. Ashley Carter and Mr. Thomas Gunn, two Ohioans who have been proud of me since day one of this journey. Even when they did not

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understand the process (or know the title of my doctoral program), thank you to my girls, my sisters (#123Careers!), and my family for continuing to pray for me, call, text and support me over the years.

Thank you to my potters, those who helped shape my dissertation and shaped me as a scholar: Dr. James L. Moore, III, Dr. Beverly Moss, Dr. JoBeth Allen, Dr. Dorinda Gallant, Dr. Lamont Flowers, Dr. Samuel Hodge, Dr. Timothy San Pedro, Dr. Candace Stout, Dr. Cynthia Tyson, Dr. Binaya Subedi, Dr. Lynn Itagaki, and Dr. Cynthia Selfe.

I say “thank you” to all of the people in South Carolina and Ohio who have fed into me (prayers, time, encouragement, gifts). To all of the people who referred to me as “Dr. Butler” months before I finished writing and spoke this doctorate into being—thank you.

Finally, I want to acknowledge those in the 4th-5th grade Sunday school class (with Mr. Arnold) who were the inquiring young minds that rejuvenated me and inspired me to do this work. Because of them, I want to cultivate future teachers who will be prepared to answer their questions, listen to their ideas, and encourage them to “live with life as they find it and make it better” (Carter G. Woodson).

Vita July 15, 1984 Born—Charleston, South Carolina 2006 B.S. Biochemistry, Xavier University of Louisiana 2007-2009 Graduate Teaching Associate, The Ohio State University 2009 M.A. African American and African Studies, The Ohio State University 2009-2012 Graduate Research Associate, The Ohio State University 2012 M.A. Multicultural and Equity Studies in Education, The Ohio State University 2012-2014 Graduate Research & Teaching Associate, The Ohio State University

Publications

Nemeth, E., Butler, T., Kinloch, V., Washington, T., & Reed, P. (2014). Transformative service learning initiatives in urban schools and communities: Learning from challenges. In V. Kinloch & P. Smagorinsky (Eds.). Service-learning in literacy education. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Butler, T. (2013). Book review for B. Sams, J. Job, & J.C. Jupp’s (Eds.). (2012). Excursions and Recursions Through Power, Privilege, and Praxis. Charlotte, NC: Information Age Publishing. Teachers College Record. Date Published: October 25, 2013. Retrieved from http://www.tcrecord.org Butler, T. (2010). Book review for L.A. Bell’s Storytelling for Social Justice: Connecting narrative and the arts in antiracist teaching. New York: Routledge. Teachers College Record, Date Published: October 27, 2010. Retrieved from http://www.tcrecord.org/Content.asp?ContentId=16216. Butler, T. (2010). Lorenzo Dow Turner and Carolina. In W. Rucker & L. Alexander (Eds.). The encyclopedia of African American history. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC- CLIO Press.

Fields of Study Major Field: Education Multicultural and Equity Studies in Education, Critical Literacies, Secondary Education

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Table of Contents

Abstract……………………………………………………………………………… ii Dedication……………………………………………………………………………. iii Acknowledgments…………………………………………………………………… iv Vita…………………………………………………………………………………... vii Table of Contents……………………………………………………………………. viii List of Figures………………………………………………………………………... xiii List of Tables………………………………………………………………………… xiv Introduction: Building Activism……………………………………………………... 1 Statement of Purpose and Research Questions…………………………………... 3 Writing as Activism: Narratives and African American Literary Tradition…………………………………………………………………………. 7 Excavating History: Voices from the Archives………………………………….. 10 Bridging Intergenerational Narratives…………………………………………… 13 Organization of Research………………………………………………………... 14 Chapter 1: Weaving the Renegade Framework of Critical Multiculturalism………... 16 Historical Roots of Multicultural Education……………………………………... 18 Unpacking Culture in Multicultural Education……………………………… 22 Conceptualizing Culture……………………………………………………... 23 Reaching Diverse Students: Pedagogical Approaches……………………… 24 Centering Diversity and Difference in Social Justice…………………………… 27 Sites for Co-Constructing a Language of Reclamation……………………… 30 Multiple and Shifting Identities……………………………………………… 31 Unmasking Power and Localizing Learning via Critical Pedagogy……………... 32 Critical Multiculturalism: Stitching Strands to Counter Oppression…………….. 37 Countering Oppression via Marginalized Epistemologies…………………... 39 Learning Through Community Engagements……………………………… 42 Theoretical Anachronisms: Youth Marginalization…………………………. 46

viii Chapter 2: Reconstructing Narratives and Youth Identities……………….………… 48 Youth Identities as “A Narrative of Risk”………………………………………. 51 Violence Against Youth: Who Are the Threats?…………………………….. 52 (Up)Rooting and Reading Risk: Media, Policies, & Reports………………... 55 Conflating “Illiteracy” and Risk……………………………………………... 59 Issues of Surveillance and Discipline……………………………………….. 60 Constructing New Narratives via Youth Literacies……………………………... 62 Scripting: Reading and Writing of Youth Visual Literacies………………… 64 Reclaiming “Property”: Youth Making Meaning of Space, Place and Race... 69 Breaking Barriers and Excavating: Narratives of Youth Activism……………… 75 Chapter 3: “I Want to Be Part of That”: Methodology for Youth Activist Narratives 81 Overview of Research…………………………………………………………… 81 Critical Narrative Inquiry: Borderland among the Personal, Theoretical & Research…………………………………………………………………………. 82 Sorting through Lived Experiences: Coming to Critical Narrative Inquiry……... 83 Nascent Methodology: Critical Narrative Inquiry & Educational Research… 85 Explore, Challenge, and See: Critical Narrative Inquirers’ Agenda………… 87 Bridging Critical Narrative Inquiry & Critical Multiculturalism…………… 90 Research Questions……………………………………………………………… 91 Contexts of Inquiry………………………………………………………………. 92 Places to Dwell: Justice High, Poinsette and the Corridor…………………... 92 Conversations and Opportunities: Access…………………………………… 93 Entering World Humanities: The Social Justice Capstone Projects…………. 94 Selecting Narrators & The Reality of Positionality……………………………… 99 Where am I? Understanding Positionality………………………………….. 102 RSVP: Invitation and Dialogic Selection………………………………………... 107 Sharing the Story: Researcher Response-ability & Responsibility….…………... 113 Data Collection: Pieces of the Narrative Writing Process…….…………………. 114 Phases of Social Justice Capstone Projects & Dissertation Research……….. 117 “Co-narrator”-Researcher Journal & Fieldnotes…………………………….. 120 Audio & Video Recordings: Student Presentations……………….………… 120 Digital Student Artifacts……………………………………………………. 121

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Focus Groups………………………………………………………………… 122 Thematic Analysis in Theory: Aims and Alignment……………………………. 123 Thematic Analysis in Practice………………………………………………. 125 Restory-ing Points…………………………………………………………… 125 Themes……………………………………………………………………… 128 Is it really real? Trustworthiness and Limitations……………………………… 131 Tellability: Checking the Stories We Share…………………………………. 132 Adequacy and Plausibility: Accessing the Stories We Share……………….. 132 “Crisis”: Access, Risk and Representation………………………………….. 133 Chapter 4: “React to Our like Revolution”: Youth Activist Narratives ……………... 136 What’s Their Role? Reframing Bystanders ………………………………… 136 Overview of Chapter………………………………………………………… 140 “Well, it’s hard to monitor, right?” Troubling the Public Narrative(s) of Human Sex Trafficking……………………………………………………… 145 Standing In (the Gaps) For………………………………………………. 146 Signifying Dress & Changing the Story: Fashioned to Advocate……….. 147 Conflicting Silence: Making Sense in the Absence of…………………... 149 The Cycle in Our Backyard: Local Realities of Human Sex Trafficking.. 153 You and Everyone: A Call to Action……………………………………. 158 “We need a song”: Repurposing Music for Social Justice…………………... 160 “It’s not just one type of person”: Making Their Final Story Public at Art in Action Night…………………………………………………………………. 166 A Story Across Borders: Connecting the Local and Global…………….. 170 Helping or Hurting: The Semiotics of Hands……………………………. 172 Activating Bystanders…………………………………………………… 177 “You know an actionist, a rebelist”: Forming a Youth Activist Stance through “Narrative Writing”………………………………………………… 179 Student Curiosity & Spaces to Inquire…………………………………... 180 “Do It Ourselves”: The Challenge and Rigor of Social Justice…………. 182 “We Might Be Able to Help”: Accessible Activism…………………….. 184 Narratives of Mutuality: “We are becoming somebody”………………... 194 Chapter 5: Restory-ing, Youth Activist Narratives, and Activism: Implications……. 203

Theoretical: Thinking deeply and differently about Critical Multiculturalism……………………………………………………………... 204 De-marginalizing youth: Young people involved in co-constructing knowledge……………………………………………………………….. 207 Challenging ageism and the archaic: Contemporary nature of activism… 208 Methodological: Critical Narrative Inquiry as a Way to See Complexities…. 209 Critical Narrative Inquiry to shift the conversation about “risk” and “youth”…………………………………………………………………... 210 Praxis: Interacting and Learning from and with Youth ……………………... 212 Youth Collaboration: Implications for K-12 and teacher education classrooms…………………………………………………………………… 214 Critical Teacher Education: Community-Classroom Interdependency….. 215 Centering Youth Activist Narratives as text in K-20 classrooms……….. 217 Youth collaboration in interstitial spaces……………………………………. 219 References …………………………………………………………………………... 222 Appendix A: Book List for Non-Fiction Reading Assignment……………………… 238 Appendix B: Social Justice Capstone Instructions…………………………………... 242 Appendix C: Social Justice Capstone Grant Proposal Form………………………… 244

List of Figures

Figure 1. PowerPoint Slide from Reverend Niemöller Warm-Up (April 18, 2013)…… 136 Figure 2. Timeline of World Humanities Classroom…………………………………... 144 Figure 3. Title Slide from Human Sex Trafficking “Explain” PowerPoint Presentation (March 2013)…………………………………………………………………... 146 Figure 4. Statistics slide (#5) from “Explain” PowerPoint Presentation……………….. 149 Figure 5. Statistics slide (#6) from “Explain” PowerPoint Presentation……………….. 150 Figure 6. Statistics Slide (#7) from “Explain” PowerPoint Presentation………………. 151 Figure 7. Photos of students in the food pantry at The Alliance (Slide 13 from “Explain” PowerPoint)…………………………………………………………. 155 Figure 8. “Our Message” Slide (#14) from “Explain” PowerPoint…………………….. 159 Figure 9. “Stories Behind Their Hands”, Empowerment art piece for “Art in Action Night” (May 2013)……………………………………………………………... 169 Figure 10. Girls’ use of hands across Social Justice Capstone Project………………… 173

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List of Tables

Table 1. Three Major Phases of Data Collection……………………………... 119 Table 2. Six Phases of Thematic Analysis (Braun & Clarke, 2006, p.87)…… 122 Table 3. Four Points of Analysis (Restory-ing Points)……………………….. 122 Table 4. Victims of the Holocaust……………………………………………. 139

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Introduction: Building Activism

The smell of freshly Xeroxed papers and lemon furniture polish hangs in the air.

An older white man in a navy blue pinstriped suit reclines in his burgundy leather office chair, right leg crossed over his left. In closing a manila folder filled with black and white maps of our family’s property, memorandums, and property titles, he uncrosses his legs, sits forward, and places the folder on the desk. He asks: “Well Mrs. Wright, do you have any questions?”

My grandmother—a small, tan-skinned woman, in her late 70s, with blonde and grey hair—tilts her head down and glances at the folded papers and frayed envelopes in her lap through the lower lens of her bifocals. She peers over the round metal frames of her glasses, looks at me, and then at my notepad. I was scribbling furiously during the

20-minute office visit. I could sense her eyes reading, lips pursing together, shoulders shrugging with hands folded across her black purse—a position of dissatisfaction and mixed emotion.

It is important to highlight that my grandmother leaves the house only for church

and doctor appointments; hurries back to take her post on the living room sofa.

Waiting for some white man to park his luxury car at the head of the road. From

my bedroom window, she will press a crease into the dusty, brittle beige Venetian

blinds and watch him. His shiny patent leather shoes unsettling the dirt and sand

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gnats as he surveys the six houses and eight acres of tilled chocolate soil standing

along Bonneau Road. She is convinced that he will appear, with title and deeds

nestled in his left breast pocket, tear down the sign bearing our family’s name,

bulldoze our homes, and transform farmland and memories into golf courses and

tennis courts, equestrian centers and parking lots, county parks and country

clubs, five-star restaurants and multi-million dollar houses. She is afraid of

moving and having nowhere to go.

I clear my throat and stated, “I have a question. Could you explain Heirs’ property to me and what procedures would we have to take in order to no longer be under

Heirs’ property?” He answers and we engage in a small dialogue. I jot down a few more notes: surveyor, divide land, contact living heirs. My grandmother sits by quietly, watching my pen float across my notepad.

“Your granddaughter’s a bright young lady,” he grins. Our session is over.

In those few seconds, the stifling stillness in the room breaks and my grandmother smiles, “Thank you…She goes to school in Ohio. What are you getting, Tam?” In that moment, all the notes I had taken outweighed any theories I would write about this experience in my thesis project that I completed as partial requirement for my Master’s degree. To my grandmother, the two questions I asked validated us. Those wildly scribbled notes were going to answer our problems and save us.

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A journey into youth activism in an urban community of a Midwestern city in the

United States begins with personal, intimate lived experiences that led me to such research. The above opening narrative reminds me that research is more than a scholarly

exercise or performance; research is a quest toward justice, equity, and humanity. In

2008, as I sat in the office of an Heirs’ property lawyer, I was still trying to determine the purpose of my research as a Master’s student in African American and African Studies. I began to question whether or not the degree I was pursuing in the Midwest would help my grandmother with her day-to-day worries about property in the southeast. A few years prior, a reporter from the city’s newspaper, The Post & Courier, interviewed my mother about the changes occurring in the small rural community of Johns Island, South Carolina where she was raised and currently resides with my grandmother. Her interview was part of a weeklong installment about community change from the perspectives of developers and several Johns Island residents. From attending town hall meetings about a proposed interstate to reading books about the people and history of Johns Island, I developed an interest in youth activism and documenting community narratives in the face of

(sub)urban sprawl and development. I also found my mother to be at the center of these interests, as she often took digital pictures of the neighborhood, collected books about the community’s history, and began audio recording interviews with relatives and community elders. Her commitment to listening, speaking back against injustice, and documenting a disappearing history positions her as an “invisible activist” (Barnett, 1993;

Sartain, 2007) in the community and within my own narrative of activism.

Statement of Purpose and Research Questions

I carry these instances—involving my grandmother and my mother—alongside others, into the streets and classrooms of Poinsette1, a large Midwestern city, as I think

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 1 All names (students, teachers, city, school, and community organizations) are pseudonyms. The participating students and teachers selected their pseudonyms. 3

about activism, particularly youth activism. I wonder: How do young people understand and respond to injustice (i.e., abuse, violence, neglect, deportation, and oppressive public policy)? This question provides a foundation for my interest in critically understanding how youth come to discuss, demand, and work toward social justice and equity not only for themselves, but also for classmates, schoolmates, peers, educators, and community members. This research seeks to uncover those experiences that serve as catalyst for their activism. In uncovering such experiences, educators, researchers, and students can begin to co-construct equitable educational environments—classrooms and communities—that allow students to develop and implement community engagement projects that are transformative, democratic, and anti-oppressive. The two major research questions that guide this dissertation study are as follows: How do students create youth activist narratives using social justice experiences? What do students’ reflections about the narrative writing process reveal about why they engage in social justice work?

In an effort to address these questions, this research focuses on four girls—Tay,

Catalia, Josefina, and Chika—attending school and residing in the urban school district of

Poinsette. They are engaged in a Social Justice Capstone Project that explores issues of marginalization, silence, and violence as related to human sex trafficking. In the

Poinsette School District, the ninth grade curricula should address the topic of social justice. At Justice High School, a team of four teachers, Mr. Logan, Mrs. Munroe, Mrs.

Prince, and Mr. Sapien, has developed two unique approaches to the curricula. First, the four teach an 80-minute World Humanities course at Justice High School for 50-plus ninth graders. Second, the teachers help the students develop Social Justice Capstone

Projects, which are yearlong action research projects around topics that students self- select and work in groups to design and implement (Appendix B).

During this dissertation study, over 50 students in the World Humanities class worked in groups of 4-5 to explore social injustices ranging from factory farms to domestic sexual violence, from LGBTQ rights to cyberbulling. After eight months of developing a research protocol around their topic, conducting research online and working with community members, the student created art pieces to publicly raise awareness of their social justice issue. In subsequent chapters, I feature and analyze the

Capstone Project of Catalia, Tay, Josefina and Chika, who focused on human sex trafficking. By unpacking different aspects of their Capstone, I begin to understand their project as a series of political-personal stories about injustice, inequality, and inequities that co-constructed and made public by young people to incite social change, or what I call “youth activist narratives.”

This dissertation study looks to historical and contemporary “activist narratives”

(Perkins, 2000) of marginalized peoples in order to reimagine the goals and intentions of activism. Such an agenda is three-fold as it attempts to: (a) position historical and contemporary action as part of a larger activist narrative; (b) challenge the “single-story” privileging of historical adults as valid activists; and (c) unpack how youth’s efforts echo historical narratives toward social justice. Therefore, I look to published accounts written by adult activists not to reinforce a hierarchy, but to revisit and reposition their youth years as formative times filled with epiphanies, defeats, and atrocities that contribute to how they came to see the world, their communities and themselves. Contemporary youth activist narratives that are central to this study look at the ways through which youth

come to understand, speak about/against oppression and oppressive structures in the twenty-first century. Are historical tactics still relevant responses to contemporary issues? Are contemporary issues, such as violence against women, racial discrimination, and sexual exploitation new or exclusive to the twenty-first century?

Throughout this dissertation, I feature excerpts from historical and contemporary activist writers, which include: youth activists (the girls), Black female activists (i.e.,

Assata Shakur, Septima Clark), and myself. Collectively these excerpts begin to challenge temporal and spatial boundaries in order to think more critically about activism and intersections across social movements (e.g., Civil Rights, feminism). Opening excerpts push me to consider how the narratives have informed my theoretical and methodological decisions. For example, I opened this dissertation with my own narrative after thinking about Assata Shakur’s relationship with her grandmother that she documented in her autobiography (Shakur, 1989). The lessons that her grandmother instilled in her reminded me of things my family taught me about being young, Black and female in America. Also, Assata’s grandmother also reminds me that activism, or a commitment to unmasking inequities, challenging injustice, and dismantling oppression, often stems from and is maintained by intimate relationships; therefore, the political becomes personal and vice versa. By including narratives across different time periods and geographical locations, I seek to argue two major points about what I call youth activist narratives. First, they are part of the African American literary tradition of

(self)authorship as resistance literature and activism (Harlow, 1987; Perkins, 2000).

Second, youth activist narratives are valid sites for critical multicultural classrooms to foster activism, address social justice, and catalyze change.

Writing as Activism: Narratives and African American Literary Tradition

In the African American literary tradition, self-authorship is positioned as a personal yet highly political act. Naming one’s self and experiences have been and continues to be central to African Americans as their reclamation of identity and humanity from a violent, monochromatic American history. Acts of “self-composing” or

“self-authoring”, which include court testimonies (McGuire, 2010), literary societies’ letters (McHenry & Heath, 1994; Royster, 2000) and emancipatory narratives (Fisher,

2009; Perkins, 2000) written by African Americans, have also been positioned as acts of activism. Therefore, in an effort to expand the historiography of African American self- authoring as activism, this discussion briefly traverses through the nineteenth-century writings of literary club members to twentieth-century narratives of “activist writers.”

Scholars in literacy studies and composition studies explore how emancipatory writings

(or slave narratives) and literary clubs connected acts of literacy, (e.g., reading, writing, thinking) to liberation, social mobility and citizenship (Cornelius, 1991; Fisher, 2009;

Gere, 2009; Williams, 2005). In her discussion of slave narratives and testimony,

Cornelius (1991) highlights the dialogic nature of literacy during the early nineteenth century. Formerly enslaved African Americans constructed their narratives to generate sympathy from northern abolition supporters and religious leaders for literacy education.

Although their audience valued literacy and literacy education “spiritual, intrinsic, and practical worth,” African Americans valued literacy and literacy education for their connection to liberation (Cornelius, 1991, p.62). Therefore, African Americans’ “use” of literacy to demand literacy speaks to Brandt & Clinton’s (2009) assertion that “we use literacy and literacy uses us” (p.1333). Emancipation writings and testimonies also

highlight the ways in which African Americans challenged the notion of “literacy as white property” (Cornelius, 1991; Prendergast, 2003). In her analysis of Thomas

Johnson’s “slave testimony,” Cornelius (1991) asserts that his story (among many others)

“further demonstrates that learning to read and write gave a slave the satisfaction of tricking the white man out of something which was supposed to be withheld from the slave” (p.61). Such testimonies undergirded the belief that reading and writing operated as acts of “resistance against the slave system and an assertion of identity by the literate slave” (p.61). Therefore, formerly enslaved African Americans “used” literacy as a form of activism—to demand social mobility and citizenship.

African American Women’s literary societies (e.g., Afric-American Female

Intelligence Society in Boston, Minerva Society in Philadelphia) also connected literacy to social mobility, citizenship, and activism (McHenry & Heath, 1994). These societies became spaces where the literate—who gained social mobility—became responsible for those “community members” or African Americans who were still enslaved, could not read or write, or both. From informing the American society of the atrocities of slavery to demanding its abolishment, African American women’s literary club letters served several purposes (McHenry & Heath, 1994; Royster, 2000). African American women’s strategic and collective efforts to write letters demonstrated how literacy connected to identity and power. Their letters displayed a level of “communicative competence”

(Hymes, 1974) often associated with middle to upper class White property owning males, bringing attention to African American women’s abilities to perform citizen identities

(Fox, 2009; McHenry & Heath, 1994; Royster, 2000). Therefore, letter writing became

an act of self-authorship where African American women performed literate, citizen and activist identities.

Perkins (2000) analyzes the autobiographical accounts of three women closely associated with the Black Panthers and Black Power Movement of the 60s and 70s—

Angela Davis (1974), Assata Shakur (1989), and Elaine Brown (1992). She asserts that the texts of these Black female “activist-writers” challenge the history of the social movement and the construction of Black female identities. Perkins, similar to Civil

Rights’ historians, contributes to the re-positioning of Black women as activists.

However, she argues that the women’s narratives became tools of the movement, as they were often written to: reshape Black womanhood/women in the public imagination and bring more people into the movement by educating larger audiences about social issues.

For example, Assata Shakur (1989) recounts the atrocities she was subjected to throughout her incarceration in order to reveal the horrors of the prison industrial complex that are often masked by mainstream media. She revealed that jails (as she was relocated to multiple facilities) were often filled with women of color (black and Latina) who were “doing time for the numbers…some form of petty theft, like shoplifting or passing bad checks” (p.54). Some women were often charged for simply “resisting arrest” (p.54). Once incarcerated, women were denied adequate healthcare (pp.126-127,

141) and privacy (p.83), and subjected to unwarranted solitary confinement (p.46) and evasive body searches (pp.83-84, 145). Shakur’s reflexive witnessing, or writing about the way she and other female inmates were treated, echoes those of “emancipation writers” like Harriett Jacobs (2001) who wrote about the maltreatment of Black bodies in

American society (Perkins, 2000). Therefore, African Americans demanding an equitable

society and performing political identities through writing transcended time, extending to and beyond twentieth-century writers, as they continue to challenge inequity and injustice.

Excavating History: Voices from the Archives

In reflecting upon a classroom activity, Levinson (2008) shares that while students “could speak eloquently about famous activists such as Martin Luther King Jr. and Rosa Parks and describe the central role they played in fighting injustice in American society,” they could “rarely connect the actions and accomplishments of famous leaders such as King and Parks with their own lives” (p.120). Therefore, in this research, I look to narratives of well-known leaders, advocates and activists to unpack not only “what” contributes to the making of an activist, but also “who” can be an activist.

Historical accounts push me to think deeply about definitions and forms of activism in order to challenge dominant narratives about marginalized peoples’ activism, especially African Americans in the segregated states of America. Recent publications by historians (Barnett, 1993; Levinson, 2012; McGuire, 2010; Robnett, 1997; Sartain,

2007) call attention to the ways African American women, youth, and children contributed to major social and political movements of the 1960s and 70s (e.g., Black

Power and Civil Rights Movements). These historical works highlight narratives as told through court testimonies, letters, newspaper articles, personal interviews, organization archives, and photographs (Barnett, 1993; McGuire, 2010; Sartain, 2007). Their research suggests that similar narratives are possibly archived within contemporary movements; thus a community of researchers should actively unearth, piece together, and make public these stories of resilience, resistance, and demands for equity. Making such narratives

public is one goal of this dissertation study, a study that is theoretically framed by critical multiculturalism (May & Sleeter, 2010; Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997).

Informed by critical theory’s focus on the construction and maintenance of power, critical multiculturalism looks to pedagogical and curricular approaches that open classrooms to hearing and seeing differences as students, educators, and researchers seek to create equitable societies and schools. Therefore, a critical multicultural educator not only makes room for more diverse perspectives, such as those re-presented by historians, but also encourages students to examine why such perspectives were missing from the classroom in the first place. Scholars and educators are not only interested in the ways marginalized peoples and communities have been denied access to power associated with political, economic, and/or social resources, but also in the ways they demand resources, reclaim spaces, and assert power. As a result, critical multicultural educators can look to historical narratives and research in order to center community members, or who Dittmer

(1994) refers to as “local people,” in classroom practices and contexts that are grounded in educational equity and social justice work.

Twentieth-century historians, such as Sartain (2007), McGuire (2010), and

Barnett (1993) emphasize the ways marginalized peoples (i.e., African Americans, women, children and youth) have resisted abuse, neglect, erasure, and other forms of violence that have sought to limit their social, political, and economic mobility.

Collectively, the narratives presented interrupt silences around the Civil Rights movement, suggesting that Black women and youth were leaders, advocates, and most importantly activists. Their research expands the frames of “activism” to include an array of acts (e.g., fundraising, testifying, boycotting, organizing) that have been categorized as

supplemental or insufficient to connect to the Civil Rights Movement. Sartain (2007) positions women as leaders and organizers of the Louisiana chapters of the National

Association for the Advancement of Colored Peoples (NAACP). Barnett (1993) examines the ways in which African American women fueled, funded, and propelled the

Civil Rights Movement through various fundraising efforts and community engagements.

Additionally, McGuire (2010) highlights Black women’s court testimonies and bus boycotts as acts of resistance against rape, police brutality, and harassment women were often subjected to in segregated Southern cities. McGuire’s accounts challenge the notion that only Black males were susceptible to violence driven by white supremacist patriarchal Jim Crow legislation.

By highlighting the lived experiences of women, historians revise the adult, male- dominated, male-driven image of the Civil Rights Movement, shifting women and young people from the background as nameless passive faces to foregrounding them as decision-makers and active participants with names, stories, and voices. McGuire (2010) looked to articles from city and college newspapers that documented adolescent and college-age women’s efforts to demand trials against white male assailants who rape and sexually assault young Black women. Court testimonies demonstrate the ways in which women, especially young women, took back their womanhood, bodies, and voices from legislation that sought to maintain the silencing, neglecting, and discarding of Black women as a result of American slavery (McGuire, 2010). Barnett (1993), McGuire

(2010) and Sartain’s (2007) research raises questions that are central to critical multiculturalism’s interests in making power, subjugation and oppression visible: Who else is left in the margins of historical social movements? How have these groups and/or

individuals sought to be heard? In order to answer these questions, this research exists as an interdisciplinary venture that looks to scholars in English, history, sociology and education who (re)position reading, writing, speaking, and being as valid, significant acts as activism. This work, I hope, can be conceptualized as a project in interdisciplinary coalition-building, one that includes various narratives of activism that contributes to spaces of equity.

Bridging Intergenerational Narratives

In arguing for more equitable spaces for activism, this work interrogates the silences, resistances and absences of youth voice in relation youth activism. In revisiting

Perkins’ (2000) analysis of autobiographies by Black female activist writers, she notes that the writers highlight their childhood, adolescence, and/or young adult lives as formative years in protesting against racial, class and gender injustices. Oftentimes, adult activists are central to discussions of social justice, social change and social movements.

However, if these adult activists recognize their youth years as formative, why have researchers neglected the lives, experiences, and voices of young leaders, organizers, and educators? Recent scholarship in history (Levinson, 2012; McGuire, 2010) begins to document the lives of young people and their involvement in historical and contemporary social movements. Whether recounting the uprisings in Soweto, desegregation in Little

Rock, or marches in Birmingham, more narratives from History and sociology are coming forth about youth activism. One cannot dismiss these works as invalid historical accounts. Doing so is a disservice to twenty-first century young people who are developing a critical consciousness and actively engaging in the work of unmasking inequities, challenging injustice, and dismantling oppression. Therefore, this research is

interested in the ways that youth activist narratives from this project might expand emerging ideas of activism to include acts of speaking, writing, reading, and being that has not been explored.

Organization of Research

Chapter one, “Weaving a Renegade Framework: Critical Multiculturalism”, unpacks the theoretical framework of critical multiculturalism by assessing the historical foundations of its contributing fields/lenses: social justice, critical pedagogy and multicultural education. I then turn to a discussion of what makes critical multiculturalism an ideal framework by which to critique issues of power, oppression, and subjugation as these relate to youth activism. I propose that there are gaps in the framework that have limited researchers and research projects from engaging with youth to explore youth activism. Although the field focuses heavily on how youth are impacted by educational and public policies, there is not enough critical discussion on how youth respond to such policies that get enacted, or enforced on them.

The second chapter, “Reconstructing Narratives and Youth Identities,” is a call to integrate the methodologies of critical literacy within critical multiculturalism to generate more collaborative research with youth that is for and about youth. By turning to critical literacy, critical multiculturalism can begin to expand its research agenda to include inquiry into youth-generated, youth-centered projects that casts youth as active participants in demands for equity within and beyond schools. Critical literacy allows me to think about youth identity, voice, and activism in ways that are attentive to issues of power, diversity, and difference. By focusing on access, space/place, and identity in relation to youth (e.g, voices, narratives, etc.) and youth activist narratives, critical

literacy can begin to strengthen the “critical” element of the theoretical framework of critical multiculturalism.

The third chapter begins to look to critical narrative inquiry and thematic analysis as methodological approaches and analytical tools that allow me to see and hear youth.

Such an approach would allow me to partner with youth as they, hence we, work to understand social justice, construct activist identities, and unmask oppressive structures.

In the fourth chapter, I will begin to unpack the “youth activist narratives” that emerge from the project. Implications for critical multiculturalism and critical narrative inquiry will be offered in the fifth chapter. I discuss implications for K-20 classrooms that focus on fostering ethical partnerships with youth and communities.

Chapter 1

Weaving the Renegade Framework of Critical Multiculturalism

Before i was in her class, i would never have imagined that history was

connected to art, that philosophy was connected to science, and so on.

The usual way that people are taught to think in amerika [sic] is that each

subject is in a little compartment and has no relation to any other subject.

For the most part, we receive fragments of unrelated knowledge, and our

education follows no logical format or pattern. It is exactly this kind of

education that produces people who don’t have the ability to think for

themselves and who are easily manipulated. (Shakur, 1987, p.35)

In reflecting upon her fifth grade teacher, Assata Shakur admits that she cannot remember her name, but highlights her ability to make education relevant, relative, and real. This passage reminds us that activists, like Assata, were—and are—human beings whose early experiences in “amerika” often informed their political consciousness and identities. The passage also reminds us of how dehumanizing and fragmented American education has been, even after the infamous Brown v. Board of Education rulings of the

1950s. Therefore, this chapter looks to Assata’s reflection to begin unpacking how marginalized peoples—women and people of color—began to demand education that no longer left them vulnerable to racism, sexism, class bias, and other forms of discrimination and oppression. Thus, education would provide women and people of

color access to skills and political and economic resources they deemed necessary for participating in creating a democratic society.

Built by the political action, scholarship, and everyday decisions of activists within and beyond the field of education (e.g., Birmingham Children’s march, demands for women’s and ethnic studies), critical multiculturalism emerges as a field and theoretical framework informed by histories of conflict and resistance, in which persons of color and women initially demanded rights, equity, and visibility in society and in the classroom. Such visibility would no longer exploit them as passive objects falling into the cracks of the achievement gap—objects whose race, ethnicity, and socioeconomic status were viewed as deficits and served as markers of underachievement. The field of critical multiculturalism, informed by the histories and theories of multicultural education, social justice, and critical pedagogy, was constructed as a site where educators, teachers, researchers, students, and community members came to view, investigate and critique inequitable educational situations (e.g., environments and policies). Therefore, this work looks to critical multiculturalism as a framework to understand how marginalized peoples—in this case, youth—come to challenge the ways educational and public policies oppress, silence, and attempt to invalidate their experiences and knowledge.

In order to effectively make use of the theoretical web of critical multiculturalism,

I acknowledge the individual, yet overlapping theoretical strands that inform this current and possibly future research projects. In exploring the historical and contemporary literature in the fields of multicultural education, social justice education, and critical pedagogy, this discussion will being to understand the theories and historical events that

inform the framework of critical multiculturalism. The first section traces the social and political genealogy of multicultural education as a field and social movement; followed by a similar discussion of social justice education and critical pedagogy. Although the three fields share similar histories, their goals and methods are distinct, yet interrelated.

Therefore, the section includes a discussion of methods and theories run parallel and intersect across multicultural education, social justice education, and critical pedagogy.

The second section explores how the parallels and intersections give rise to critical multiculturalism, the theoretical framework that informs how I unpack issues of identity, activism and narrative writing. By placing emphasis on how activism has shaped the field’s theories, agenda, and interventions, I am interested in how critical multiculturalism theorizes youth activism. From highlighting how prominent adults demanded more inclusive education during the Civil Rights Movement to discussions of incorporating more diverse adult narratives into classrooms, scholarship in the theory’s foundational fields often places the experiences of adult activists at the center of curriculum and curricular reform. Therefore, the discussion concludes by bringing attention to the ways in which critical multiculturalism should expand to account for the lives, knowledge, identities, and activism of marginalized peoples, especially youth.

Historical Roots of Multicultural Education

Scholars connect the birth and genealogy of multicultural education to African

Americans’ historical struggle for liberation, citizenship, and education in the United

States. Although there are additional social movements and political struggles that align with and/or inform multicultural education (e.g., women’s movement & Title IX (1972), bilingual education, emergence of women’s studies and ethnic studies departments), this

discussion explores two key time periods in African American and American history that are often highlighted by scholars in the field: Reconstruction and the Civil Rights

Movement. Reconstruction proved to be politically vital as formerly enslaved peoples worked toward an African American identity that was both American citizen and West and Central African descendent (Alexander, 2008). In doing so, twentieth-century scholars, such as W.E.B. DuBois (1902, 1903) and Carter G. Woodson (1919, 1933), challenged educators, political officials, and community members to construct curricula that included the lives, histories and contributions of African Americans. The scholars called for pedagogical practices, classrooms, and curricula that spoke to the lived experiences and needs of African Americans living in the United States more than 30 years removed from the horrors of American slavery. Their efforts later influenced movements by domestic and international communities demanding visibility, access, resources, equity, as well as social and political justice.

The scholarship and lives of historians and scholars such as Carter G. Woodson

(1919, 1933), W.E.B. DuBois (1902, 1903), and U.W. Leavell (1936) stand as foundations to the multicultural education movement. Although Banks (1996) suggests that these scholars informed the tenets of multicultural education, he asserts that were not directly connected to the field itself. W.E.B DuBois penned critiques of the American educational system in his book, Souls of Black Folk (DuBois, 1903), and monthly publications. In The Atlantic Monthly, he asserted that any education or training must account for holistic development and the shaping of a critical communal consciousness, as training “as will best use the labor of all men without enslaving or brutalizing…and stamp out those that in sheer barbarity deafen us to the wail of prisoned souls within the

Veil” (DuBois, 1902). He also contributed to a long-standing debate with educator- philanthropist Booker T. Washington (1896) surrounding classical/liberal or vocational/industrial education. The DuBois-Washington debate (1890-1907) surrounding educational hegemony and ideology can be viewed as the precursor to culturally relevant pedagogy, as it was concerned with determining which educational approach (and content) would be more useful to African Americans during

Reconstruction.

As founder of the Association for the Study of Negro Life and History in 1915

(ASNLH), Carter G. Woodson was also a precursor to multicultural education’s call for culturally relevant pedagogy. In The Mis-Education of the Negro, Woodson (1933/1997) critiqued the American educational system for training and conforming African

Americans to “the needs of those who have enslaved and oppressed weaker peoples”

(xii). Not only did education “handicap” Black students by teaching them that their faces are “a curse” and their strides toward change are “hopeless” (p.3), it also created a class of educated, yet unemployed, African Americans. The plight of the “educated Negro” spoke to larger oppressive structures that education had yet to dismantle—discriminatory hiring practices, white supremacist federal legislation, and internalized racism within

African American communities. Woodson (1922, 1928, 1939) revised histories of

African Americans and documented the historical contributions of African societies to counter curriculum that rendered Africans and African Americans as uncultured, uneducated, and ahistorical peoples. Revisionist scholarship produced by Woodson contributed to the proliferation of multicultural education and one of its major tenets: visibility. Years before ASNLH and Woodson’s publications, Roman (1911) advocated

for the “necessity of Negro historian” (p.30) who would “discover and remedy the chromatic aberrations of the historical lenses which have shown civilization to be solidly white” (p.24). Roman (1911) insisted that African Americans became visible and portrayed as change agents and influential historical contributors, rather than as

“denizens” (Anderson, 1988; Wilkarmanayake, 1973). Roman’s (1911) demands,

Woodson’s (1919, 1922, 1928, 1939) research, and DuBois’ (1902, 1903, 1907) critiques stood within the African American literary tradition of writing as activism. Speeches composed by public officials (Crummell, 1897), in conjunction with research by historians (Woodson, 1919, 1928, 1939) and educators (Leavell, 1936; Wilkerson, 1936) demonstrated why African Americans should be considered equals, citizens, and, most importantly, humans.

The persistence by which countless African Americans demanded equal treatment and resisted racial injustices fueled the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s.

It was this same persistence that heavily influenced the development of multicultural education. The 1954 ruling in Brown v. Board of Education (I) that deemed segregation unconstitutional and the 1955 ruling in Brown v. Board of Education (II)2 that dismantled segregated education appeared to be federal interventions that moved African Americans closer, however slightly, to being viewed as equal citizens, like their white counterparts

(Prendergast, 2003). Unfortunately in desegregated schools, African American students still faced inequities, such as negative portrayals in textbooks, outdated resources, and educators unprepared and/or unwilling to teach them. The field of multicultural

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 2!Brown v. Board of Education was comprised of five U.S. Supreme Court cases: Brown v. Board of Education or Topeka, Briggs v. Elliot, Davis v. Board of Education of Prince Edward County (Virginia), Boiling v. Sharpe, and Gebhart v. Ethel (Patterson, 2001). 21

education emerged in response to the failure of desegregation and, according to Banks

(1989), to “demands for school reform articulated first by African Americans then by other groups of color (p.5)” (qtd. in Sleeter & McLaren 1995, p.7). Scholars demanded educational equity, which calls for a recognition of difference that ensure students’ access to resources and skills that would lead to academic excellence. Gordon (1999) suggests that equity, not equality, embraces cultural differences. He asserts that “equality requires sameness, but equity requires treatments be appropriate and sufficient to those characteristics and needs of those treated…for educational equity to be served, treatment must be specific to one’s functional characteristics and sufficient to the realities of one’s condition” (Gordon, 1999, p.xiv). As a result, the field of multicultural education focuses on creating classrooms that are not only appropriate and “sufficient” to respond to the needs and identities of students, but classrooms that are also attentive and relevant to their lives or “conditions” beyond school.

Unpacking Culture in Multicultural Education

By the early nineties, Banks (1996) ushered in the term “multicultural”, in place of “multiethnic”, to explore issues of “race, class, gender, and exceptionality and their interaction” (p.30). Under its new name, multicultural education scholars such as Banks

(1996, 1989/2010), Banks & Banks (1995), Ladson-Billings (1994, 1995), Nieto (1994a,

1994b), and Sleeter (1989, 1995, 2005) began to consider how culture connected to pedagogy and curriculum. They asserted that culturally-disconnected curricular and pedagogical approaches in conjunction with the predominately white, middle class, female population of educators/teachers resulted in the misunderstanding of, miscommunication with, and as a result, mis-education of students of color and students

from working-class and rural communities. Banks’ (1996) five dimensions of multicultural education—“content integration, the knowledge construction process, prejudice reduction, an equity pedagogy, and an empowering school culture and social structure” (Banks & Banks, 1995, p.152)— not only serve as guidelines for placing culture at the center of educational practices and research, but also highlight areas that multicultural educators and researchers are committed to change.

Conceptualizing Culture

The concept of culture is seated in the field anthropology as scholars continue to debate what it is and how it functions among people in society (Gupta & Ferguson,

1997). In the field of multicultural education, and specifically with the theoretical framework of critical multiculturalism, culture informs pedagogical practices and curricula, and centralizing how teachers, teacher educators, and educational researchers interact with, perceive, and understand students and their communities. Erickson (2010) asserts that culture consists of “the patterning of the practices of ‘doing being human’— in our routine actions, in our interpretations of meanings in those actions, and in the beliefs that underlie our meaning interpretations” (p.35). Gay (1995) notes that culture may be “an aggregation of beliefs, attitudes, habits, values, and practices that forms a view of reality” (p.159). Just as the definitions of culture are ever changing, so too are cultures themselves. Therefore, the preceding definitions demonstrate the ways culture is dynamic, fluid, influential and influenced by the lived experiences, physical and social locations, and histories of people. Culture becomes the site where racial, ethnic, gendered and sexualized identities meet, interact with and, possibly, contradict historical background(s), religion, social class, socioeconomic status, language, and geographical

(re)location. With such unclear, evolving definitions of what culture is, it is often erroneously conflated with being exclusively race, ethnicity, class or one of the other difficult-to-define aspects of identity (Anzaldúa, 2007; Haddix, 2010; McCarthy &

Critlow, 1993). Therefore, multicultural education intervenes in conversations that cast culture as disposable additions to classrooms and/or curricula or deficits inhibiting students of color from attaining academic achievement and/or excellence.

Multicultural education scholars are concerned with putting forth an agenda of educational equity related to issues of visibility. Such an agenda ensures visibility of marginalized communities in curricula, and calls attention to the invisibility or silencing of multiple perspectives in lieu of hypervisible “heroes and holidays” (Sleeter, 2005).

Scholars demand critical, informed, and intentional interventions in curricula and teacher education programs that challenge skewed textbooks and oppressive pedagogical approaches. Not only are they invested in rewriting portrayals of historically marginalized communities in curricula, they are equally invested in re-evaluating and reconstructing teacher education programs to ensure the inclusion of educators who (a) reflect the diversity and differences of students in American classrooms, and (b) have a more critical understanding of diversity and differences of various students.

Reaching Diverse Students: Pedagogical Approaches

A major tenet of multicultural education, which critical multiculturalism builds upon, emphasizes that culture—the lived experiences, ways of being and knowing—is at the root of how and what educators must teach. Pedagogical approaches advanced by

Ladson-Billings (1994) and Gay (2000) demonstrate that knowledge and culture are intricately linked, or as Banks (1996) asserts, knowledge is “the way a person explains or

interprets reality” (p.5). Collectively, Banks (1996), Ladson-Billings (1994), Gay (2000) and additional scholars positions multicultural education as responsible, intentional ways of instructing and co-constructing knowledge that draws students of color from the periphery to the center of teaching and learning.

An example of a pedagogical approach that centers students in teaching and learning is culturally relevant pedagogy, which draws on sociolinguistics, in arguing that schools should be accessible to culturally diverse students. Pedagogical approaches such as culturally relevant, culturally congruent, cultural appropriateness, cultural responsiveness, and cultural compatibility (see discussion in Ladson-Billings, 1994) suggest that teachers, administrators, and school officials need to be informed about the home and community practices, beliefs and knowledge that students possess. In this way, the learning and communicative styles of students of color, students from language- diverse communities, and students from poor and working-class backgrounds would no longer be categorized as “remedial”, as “deficits”, or “at-risk” of failure, given the necessity of educators to identify students’ abilities and ways of knowing (Gay, 2000;

Ladson-Billings, 1994; Lee, 2006). While these pedagogical approaches (e.g., culturally relevant, cultural responsiveness) provide insight into some of the incongruence between school and home, they do not fully explore the complexities beyond language and culture

“differences” of home and school.

Cultural relevance moves beyond “the cultural mismatch theory” as it specifically relates to educating African American students (Lee, 2006). Ladson-Billings (1994) suggests using “student culture in order to maintain it and to transcend the negative effects of the dominant culture…brought about, for example, by not seeing one’s history,

culture, or background represented in the textbook or curriculum or by seeing that history, culture, or background distorted” (p.17). One of the negative effects that culturally relevant teaching seeks to transcend is equating African American academic excellence with “acting White” (Ladson-Billings, 1994, 1995). Therefore, by advocating for the development of a “‘relevant black personality’” (Ladson-Billings 1994, p.17), culturally relevant teaching “aims at another level—excellence—and transforms shifting responsibility into sharing responsibility” (Ladson-Billings, 1994, p.23). Gay (2000,

2002) and Lee (2006) further the discussion of attaining excellence through the collective construction of curricula via culturally responsive pedagogy and cultural modeling.

Culturally responsive teaching not only places students’ cultural experiences and cultural knowledge at the center of education, but also emphasizes the importance of care. According to Gay (2002), one of the five essential elements of culturally responsive teaching is “demonstrating caring and building learning communities” (p.106). In order to create a “relevant Black personality” (Ladson-Billings, 1994), then, students must come to see classrooms as sites of care that promote academic excellence, sites that respect and are attentive to their diverse knowledge. Lee (2006) suggests a similar approach in her discussion of cultural modeling, which she positions as a “framework for the design of learning environments that examines what youth know from everyday settings to support specific subject matter learning” (p.15). She, like Ladson-Billings

(1994, 1995) and Gay (2000, 2002), asserts that learning is “optimized” when students are able to align their goals and identities with supportive, caring and responsive curricula and classroom environments.

Undoubtedly, culturally relevant and responsive pedagogy align with tenets of equity pedagogy (Banks & Banks, 1995), and is embedded in critical multiculturalism’s demand for socially just classrooms and society. According to Banks & Banks (1995), equity pedagogy stands as one of the five dimensions of multicultural education that focuses specifically on “…teaching strategies and classroom environments that help students from diverse racial, ethnic, and cultural groups attain the knowledge, skills, and attitudes needed to function effectively within, and help create and perpetuate, a just, humane, and democratic society” (p.152). The emphasis on constructing “a just, humane, and democratic society” speaks to the field’s historical African American foundations, which intricately links education to liberation and citizenship (Anderson, 1988). When fused with social justice, multicultural education begins to transform into a framework

(e.g., critical multiculturalism) that critiques inequity and emphasizes cultural relevance in the name of democracy (Darling-Hammond, 1998, 2010; May, 1999; May & Sleeter,

2010). Under critical multiculturalism, educators and students work toward classrooms that are open spaces for interrogating oppression through listening, dialogue, and reciprocity.

Centering Diversity and Difference in Social Justice

Multicultural education scholars (Banks & Banks, 1995; Gay, 1995; Ladson-

Billings, 1994; Darling-Hammond, 1998; Sleeter, 2005) and their predecessors (DuBois,

1902; Dewey, 1916; Woodson, 1933) often focus heavily on issues of equity, democracy, and justice as these relate to cultural differences within classrooms. However, the field of social justice education demands that educators, teachers, researchers, and students consider how differences have been constructed by policies (Prendergast, 2003) and

popular culture (Giroux, 2004), and connected to oppression. Although scholars trace the concept of justice and social justice to Plato, Aristotle, Socrates, and a nineteenth-century

Jesuit priest (Ayers, Quinn, & Stovall, 2009), the roots of social justice education are found in the writings of educational philosopher John Dewey. According to Dewey

(2004/1916), education that emphasizes collective uplift and empowerment promotes democracy, while education that advocates for class stratification maintains the status quo and hinders movement toward the democratic ideal. He argues that:

We cannot set up, out of our heads, something we regard as an ideal society. We

must base our conception upon societies which actually exist, in order to have any

assurance that our ideal is a practicable one…The problem is to extract the

desirable traits of forms of community life which actually exist, and employ them

to criticize undesirable features and suggest improvement (Dewey, 2004/1916,

p.79).

This chapter opened with an excerpt from Assata Shakur’s (1989) autobiography as she reflects upon her educational experiences. Both Assata and Dewey (1916) spoke against education for exploitation, which does not encourage students to critique knowledge presented by “authoritative” individuals within or beyond the classroom (Ayers, Quinn,

& Stovall, 2009; Shakur, 1989). Social justice education, generally, and critical multiculturalism, particularly, is are deeply entrenched with issues of democracy, equity, and citizenship, and these issues are linked to the politics of belonging (Carillo-Rowe,

2005; hooks, 2008; Nieto; 1994a).

Unlike multicultural education, which centers culture and cultural differences, social justice places differences and diversity—in relation to oppression—at its center.

Difference and diversity are not conceptualized as sites for generating relevant curricula, but rather as sites of inquiry. Adams, Bell, and& Griffin (2007) consider how the absence of critical focus on difference and diversity contribute to marginalization, discrimination, prejudice, various “–isms and additional forms of oppression (Adams,

Bell, & Griffin, 2007). In other words, social justice frameworks conceptualize race, class, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, nationality, age, (dis)ability, and additional identity markers as both sources of and springboards for oppression. Adams, Bell, and& Griffin

(2007) suggest that social justice education emerges from a “theory of oppression” (p.3).

Within this theory, educators, researchers, and students explore how oppression operates between, within, and across social groups; they are also interested in how oppression functions at the individual level.

Social justice frameworks in education demand an ongoing examination of difference and diversity in order to work toward an anti-oppressive education. In response, social justice classrooms are constructed as “open spaces” for an anti- oppressive language, where students and teachers work together to develop teaching and learning “tactics” that move toward liberation (Greene, 1988, 1995; Kumashiro, 2000).

Such tactics include: creating a space to uncover and transform oppressive language; recognizing identities as shifting, multiple and hybrid identities; and developing more informed and responsive cross-cultural and cross-generational coalitions. By examining diversity and differences as historical and contemporary sites of oppression, social justice pushes critical multicultural scholars to re-conceptualize the two—diversity and difference—as sites of political, social, and personal transformation.

Sites for Co-constructing a Language of Reclamation

To emphasize the ways in which oppression is relational and shifting, Adams,

Bell, and Griffin (2007) call for new terminology to replace ‘oppressed’ and ‘oppressor.’

They assert that targeted and advantaged “connote the relative positions of individuals and groups within a hierarchal system” and “enable a more invitational rather than confrontational approach to individual people or social groups” (Adams, Bell, and

Griffin, 2007, xx). Therefore, social justice scholars inform critical multiculturalism’s focus on power embedded in and reinforced by language. Such scholars explore not only how language contributes to the maintenance of oppression, but also how it interrupts the perpetuation of oppression. For example, Kumashiro (2000) calls for the reappropriation of “the disruptive, discomforting term…queer” in order to “signify a rejection of normative sexualities and genders…and a feeing of self-empowerment” (p.26). He admits that such reclaiming requires understanding the term’s history, which includes analyzing structures that have contributed to the ostracizing, mistreatment, and degradation of shifting sexualities and gendered identities. Kumashiro (2000) and additional scholars (Bell, 2010; Leistyna, 2009) highlight self-identification and naming as two major tenets of social justice. One’s ability to name demonstrates an ability to actively engage in the political process of meaning making, a concept often connected to critical theorist and educator Paulo Freire (1995/1970). Naming attempts to counter oppression by allowing people to speak for and about themselves, and about their lived experiences, using their own language(s).

Multiple and Shifting Identities

Within social justice frameworks, difference and diversity are linked to discussions of shifting, hybrid and/or multiple identities. Therefore, scholars who advocate for reclamation of old or the creation of new terms are consequently advocating for more nuanced understandings of realities, positionalities, and identities. Kumashiro

(2000) suggests that an anti-oppressive education shifts away from a desire “to be” or “to be better”, a concept that freezes people, their identities and lived experiences in time.

Instead, he focuses on becoming, in which “we want to constantly become, we want difference, change, newness” (p.46). In this sense, social justice seeks to move beyond identity binaries—black/white, male/female, gay/heterosexual, Christian/non-Christian— which are perceived to be stagnant constructs that fail to speak to the fluid nature of humans, culture, and society.

Similarly, Carrillo-Rowe (2005) discusses how “becoming” and “belonging” reflect multiple, and possibly conflicting, perspectives, allegiances, personalities, and agendas. She asserts that “sites of belonging constitute how we see the world, what we value, who we are (becoming)...It gestures toward deep reflection about the selves we are creating as a function of where we place our bodies, and with whom we build our affective ties” (p.16). The ways in which people seek self-identification is an effort to claim social, political, and cultural sites of belonging. In recognizing this, social justice scholars and educators are committed to creating classrooms as sites of belonging. In social justice informed classrooms, students and educators develop a heightened level of empathy and self-awareness that makes them receptive to various ways of knowing. By engaging with and reflecting upon an array of new texts (i.e., literature or performative

arts), some may come to develop “an awareness of [their] own one-dimensionality”

(Greene, 1995, p.180). Greene (1995) suggests that through this commitment, educators and students begin to create classrooms that recognize the existence and knowledges of our “many selves” (Lugones, 2003)—selves that may be able to empathize with and work alongside silenced, oppressed, isolated, and/or erased peoples.

Unmasking Power and Localizing Learning via Critical Pedagogy

As theories and methods of social justice and multicultural education intersect to create more equitable classrooms and curricula, critical multiculturalism looks to critical pedagogy for insight into how power and consciousness could contribute to an agenda of equitable education. Critical pedagogy is informed by critical theory, which emerged from the Frankfurt School of Social Research, as scholars sought to understand how domination, oppression, and other forms of unequal power distribution manifest in everyday interactions. Within the context of twentieth-century industrial Germany,

Theodore Adorno, Antonio Gramsci and additional critical theorists interrogated how people came to understand and change their class positions. Scholars (Apple, 1979;

Giroux, 2004; Gramsci, 1971) asserted that power, or hegemony (Gramsci, 1971), is relative and achieved through “a combination of coercion and a form of consent” from the subjugated persons (Kaomea, 2003). However, they believed that subjugation could be countered through self-reflection, self-empowerment, and action.

Critical theory relies heavily upon individuals no longer seeing themselves as passive objects, but rather as social and socialized beings. When education takes up notions of self-reflection in the name of change, it gives rise to critical pedagogy. In the opening excerpt, Assata critiques the American education’s fragmented curriculum that

socializes people to accept their subjugated position as they are “easily manipulated” and do not “have the ability to think for themselves” (Shakur, 1987, p.35). Therefore, critical pedagogues reimagine educational spaces where learners can reflect upon and interrogate their societal positions as it relates to their race, class, gender, and additional identity markers. Through dialogue, reflection and action, learners begin to name, acknowledge, and counter power as domination, discrimination, and violence in everyday spaces such as workplaces, communities, homes, and classrooms.

Critical pedagogues bring attention to the ways in which students have been silenced by the “banking model of education” (Freire, 1970), noting that classrooms have failed to make room for multiple voices and experiences. While critical pedagogy has its roots in Paulo Freire’s discussion of education in Brazil, the commitment and action of activists Bernice Robinson, Esau Jenkins, and Septima Clark in South Carolina are equally important foundations. Kincheloe and Steinberg (1997) highlight the ways in which Freire adapted critical theory informed by 1920 Germany to assess the experiences of citizens living on the periphery in 1970s Brazil (Freire, 1970). Critical theorists, like

Theodor Adorno, Antonio Gramsci, and others, were invested in uncovering “how domination takes place” and “the way human relations are shaped in…everyday life”

(Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997, p.23). Therefore, critical pedagogues explore how domination occurs in curriculum and instruction. Freire (1995/1970), who advocated for

“problem-posing education rather than as a classroom tool kit for finding classroom solutions” (Sleeter & McLaren, 1995, p.14), is instrumental to critical pedagogy.

However, instead of recounting the theories of Freire, the discussion turns to a more local

context to see how critical pedagogy functions within critical multiculturalism and becomes a mechanism for countering marginalization and domination.

The South Carolina Sea Island Citizenship Schools serve as examples of critical pedagogy in action. Citizenship Schools were created to prepare African Americans for the state-mandated literacy test (Freire & Horton, 1995; Kates, 2006; Levine, 2004;

Schneider, 2007). In 1954, Septima Clark, a formally trained educator from Charleston, called upon her cousin, Bernice Robinson, to teach a class of African American adults as they congregated in the back room of the Progressive Club. Located in the rural South

Carolina community of Johns Island, the “school” was created as a community organization to counter the relatively low literacy rates among the community’s adults, which prevented most African Americans in the Sea Island community from registering and voting (Clark & Blythe, 1962; Horton & Freire, 1990; Kates, 2006). African

Americans, regardless of their reading and writing capabilities were often denied the opportunity to vote as they were unable to pass a state-mandated literacy test, which contained extensive questions about the state laws and U.S. Constitution (Levine, 2004;

Kates, 2006). After participating in workshops and discussions at the Highlander Folk

School, located in Tennessee, three community members with varying skills and educational levels returned to Johns Island to cultivate more than “literate” adults, but rather, a community of citizens.

Closer examination of the birth and proliferation of the Citizenship Schools sheds light on major tenets of critical pedagogy, such as humanizing education and dismantling power structures (Freire, 1985; Horton & Freire, 1990). Critical theory places emphasis on an “individual’s consciousness of himself or herself as a social being” (Kincheloe &

Steinberg, 1997, p.23). Therefore, Citizenship Schools relied upon the process of coming to see oneself as a “social being” emerging in their adult learners, as well as community members who volunteered to serve as teachers, fundraisers, or additional forms of support. As seen in the literary tradition of African Americans, “readers were responsible for non-readers” and education was a collective venture toward liberation (Fisher, 2009).

In their commitment to communal uplift, Septima Clark, Esau Jenkins, and

Bernice Robinson can be viewed as critical pedagogues because they worked alongside learners and constructed spaces that fostered learning and dialogue. Jenkins taught on his bus as he transported Sea Island residents to and from work, doctor visits, or other important appointments on the main peninsula of Charleston, South Carolina. Robinson was a beautician who also taught children in the community how to sew. Clark, a trained educator, helped to develop the Citizenship Schools after her NAACP membership cost her her job as a South Carolina public school teacher (Clark & Blythe, 1962; Horton &

Freire, 1990; Levine, 2004, Kates, 2006).

The critical element of Robinson’s pedagogical approaches in the Citizenship

School classroom was seeing participants as co-learners and human beings. She demonstrated her commitment to respect by altering the dynamics of the classroom. In removing desks and replacing them with full-size chairs, Citizenship School participants came to see learning as an ongoing process, that is accessible to all—not just children.

Robinson worked closely with Septima Clark to create relevant learning materials, which included mock checks and order forms from department store catalogues as learners begin to develop reading and writing skills that translated into their everyday activities.

She also emphasized a key element of critical pedagogy—shifting away from teacher as

trained expert (Kinloch, 2012). Instead, she instructed with transparency, asserting her position as both teacher and learner, by stating on the first day, “I am not a teacher. I am learning with you” (Horton & Freire, 1990).

Therefore, critical pedagogues, like individuals invested in the Citizenship

Schools as well as contemporary theorists Shor and Freire (1987), highlight the interdependent nature of education, politics and social change. Education contributes to development of activist citizenry, or persons who actively question, challenge, respond to issue of inequity within their local and the global communities. In classrooms informed by critical democratic pedagogy (Shor, 1992) and liberatory education, students develop awareness and empathy through their dialogic and reciprocal exchanges with educators, community members, and one another. These exchanges give rise to social justice or the

“democratic and participatory, inclusive and affirming of human agency and human capacities for working collaboratively to create change” (Adams, Bell, & Griffin, 2007).

In critical democratic pedagogy, teachers and students engage in projects that “[approach] individual growth as an active, cooperative, and social process, because the self and society create each other” (Shor, 1992, p.15). Such pedagogy emphasizes the connection between education, politics and power. He asserts that teaching and learning informed by critical democratic pedagogy should contribute to “habits of inquiry, and critical curiosity about society, power, inequality, and change” (Shor, 1992, p.15). Similarly, in liberatory education, Freire calls upon “the methods of dialogical education” or the “critical dialogue about a text or a moment of society”(Shor & Friere, 1987, p.13). Dialogue is central to the work of critical multiculturalism as it “‘illuminates’ reality” (Shor & Freire,

1987, p.13) and fosters teacher-learner role reversals. The constant shifting in teacher-

learner identities “can prove revolutionary for how we reimagine the position of ‘teacher’ from a trained expert to a participant in a classroom of learners” (Kinloch, 2011, p.167).

As a result, students are also repositioned as both teachers and learners.

Therefore, critical multiculturalism looks to critical pedagogy for insight into the importance of creating classrooms and spaces of engagement that recognizes students and teachers as learners and humans. As a result, critical pedagogy contributes to the web of critical multiculturalism in ways that connect issues of power to multicultural education’s culturally relevant pedagogy and social justice’s theory of oppression in order to create societies and classrooms that are equitable and democratic.

Critical Multiculturalism: Stitching Strands to Counter Oppression

In an effort to understand the purpose and structure of critical multiculturalism’s web, I look to Septima Clark, as she reflects upon her first few months as an 18-year-old working alongside residents of Johns Island in 1916. Her narrative highlights the philosophies that undergird the theoretical framework, as well as the consciousness of those committed to its agenda.

Soon after I went to down to Johns Island, I discovered that some of the

men were beginning to get interested in a movement that was to mean much to the

island folk. That was the organization of certain fraternal groups…in order to be

functioning members of these lodges the men had to know the rituals, had to

make speeches to their fellow members, even had to keep books. And to do these

things it was almost necessary to be able to read and write. I say almost because

most of the men, being unable to read, had unusually good memories and were

adept at memorizing…So some of them began coming to the other Negro teacher

and me for help. “Will you help us get up a speech for the lodge meeting?” they

would ask. And we would sit down and write out little speeches and read them to

them, and they would memorize them; and they would make the speeches that we

had helped them compose.

But pretty soon they wanted to do more. They wanted to know how to

read those speeches we had written for them, and even to write speeches of their

own…But the best thing about it was that they wanted to learn, that they were

eager to improve themselves. (Clark & Blythe, 1962, pp.51-52)

Clark’s narrative moves me to think about education as a collective venture toward democracy, undertaken by an array of “cultural workers” (Kincheloe & Steinberg,

1997; Sleeter & McLaren, 1995). The engagements she describes precede the 1950s Sea

Island Citizenship Schools, to which Clark and additional community members proved to be instrumental, that later embodied similar pedagogical principles. Set in 1916 in a predominately African American rural community, Clark’s narrative illustrates critical multiculturalism’s emphasis on socio-political and socio-cultural contexts of teaching and learning. She highlights how communities served as (and continue to serve as) classrooms, or sites of engagement, where learning became an act of democracy. By reimagining communities as classrooms, critical multiculturalism upholds tenets of its theoretical foundation: cultural relevance, learning as engagement, and working across difference toward a more egalitarian society. Key details of the narrative, and this dissertation research, are the role of youth, and the ways in which youth and adults negotiated power. Clark, a young female teacher from the urban mainland of Charleston, worked alongside adult male residents of the rural community, through a partnership built

upon respect and responsibility. The engagements between Johns Islanders and Clark highlight the tenet that makes critical multiculturalism a critical framework: its conception of education as an active process, a humanizing endeavor, and a responsive and responsible practice working toward democracy.

Similar to social justice, which is interested in intersections of race, class, and gender, critical multiculturalism is constructed as a web of theories used to see, hear, analyze, and understand multiple relationships within and beyond classrooms. The framework is concerned with “the ways power has operated historically and contemporaneously to legitimate social categories and divisions” (Kincheloe &

Steinberg, 1997, p.25). Interested in student-student, student-teacher, classroom- community, and an array of additional interactions, scholars (Kincheloe & Steinberg,

1997; Martin, 2005; May, 1999; Rogers, Marshall, Tyson, 2006; Seidl & Deglau, 1995) interrogate these relationships in hopes of understanding how difference, diversity, and power impact teaching and learning. Critical multiculturalists often ask: how do we conceptualize and make sense of difference and diversity in an effort to move toward a more equitable, multicultural, multiracial, and democratic world?

Countering Oppression via Marginalized Epistemologies

Situating difference and diversities as key factors in critical multiculturalism requires actively seeking and listening to spaces where people speak back to assimilation, standardization, and other forms of systematic erasure. Historically, critical multiculturalism has been critiqued for “destroying the standards of education”

(Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997, p.57), however, the field has demanded—and continues to demand—education that re-evaluates standards by placing inquiry and multiple truths at

the center of teaching and learning. The field brings attention to various epistemologies that have historically been silenced and/or ignored by conservative and liberal multiculturalism or romanticized by left-essentialist and pluralist multiculturalism (May

& Sleeter, 2010; Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997). Therefore, critical scholars are invested in ways that bring subjugated knowledge into conversation with dominant mainstream knowledge, and that leads to more equitable classrooms and societies. In working closely with scholars in ethnic studies, gender/women’s/sexuality studies, and similar disciplines, critical multiculturalists develop methodologies that listen and respond to historically marginalized peoples’ ways of being and knowing (Kaomea, 2000, 2003, 2006; Sleeter &

McLaren, 1995). Such interdisciplinary work attempts to shift away from individualistic hegemonic knowledge production and moves toward collaborative efforts to co-construct knowledge (Banks, 1996). Critical scholars’ (May & Sleeter, 2010; Kincheloe &

Steinberg, 1997; Kaomea, 2000, 2003, 2006) efforts model the work that students are expected to do within and beyond the classroom alongside educators, community members, and researchers—collaborating in order to develop and name more nuanced responses to injustices and inequities.

This collective effort of critical theorists is not just about bringing “new” or marginalized voices to the table. It is an attempt to consider why voices of women of color and indigenous scholars were excluded. For example, Black feminists are not interested in simply inserting their voices into a feminist agenda (which has been historically and predominantly White), but they are invested in presenting Black female lives as unique sites of learning and inquiry (Collins, 1990; Dillard, 2000; hooks, 2000).

Similarly, additional multiracial feminist scholars call for research practices that do not

give voice to their experiences, but require researchers and academics to hear their experiences. Women, and people, of color are seeking more than entrée into the educational research; we are also seeking to “undermine the abstract, rationalistic and universal image of the scientific enterprise” (Narayan, 2003 p.332; Tyson, 1997;

Scheurich & Young, 1977). Since multiracial feminism is committed to examining

“structures of domination” as they relate to race and “social construction of gender”

(Zinn & Dill, 1996, p.321), the scholarship, research, and lived experiences of Black,

Chicana, and U.S. Third World feminists can also be discussed as roots informing multiracial feminism and critical multiculturalism. According to Hurtado (2003), feminists of color, or multiracial feminists, are invested in working within and between paradigms in an effort to engage in research and initiatives that promote social and political change.

Like feminists of color, Indigenous scholars adhere to a similar agenda of research in the name of social change. With regard to social science research, indigenists

(Smith, 1999; Dei, 2000; Deloria, 2001a, 2001b; Brayboy, 2005; Kaomea, 2000, 2003,

2006) explore the epistemological intersections and tensions between the academy and

Indigenous knowledge. Collectively, the scholars attempt to interrupt the ways in which

Indigenous knowledge has been confiscated, silenced, invalidated and/or commodified by

Western science and academic discourse. By exploring the construction of Indigenous knowledge, they suggest that such knowledge can counter the destructive hegemony associated with ‘Western’ ways of knowing and simultaneously create new epistemologies and points of inquiry. Their work is essential to critical multiculturalism’s effort to rethink difference as the scholars disrupt the black-white racial binary, re-center

the value and validity of community knowledge, and recover historical truths from violence associated with assimilation and/or colonization.

Collectively, these fields, researchers, and scholars contribute to the critical multiculturalist agenda of producing new knowledge that attends to power. Their scholarship challenges the silence and misrepresentation often associated with dominant narratives about, but not constructed by, marginalized peoples and communities. As a result, scholars, students, and educators look to the theories and “methodologies of the oppressed” (Sandoval, 2000) to formulate ways to name and speak back to oppressive structures within their own communities.

Learning through Community Engagements

According to critical multiculturalists, inquiry, participation, and engagement are central to education that looks to counter oppression, which arises from its theoretical foundations. Educators readjust their positions and classrooms as they center difference and diversities, and as they co-construct new knowledge. Critical teachers acknowledge that they are not society’s sole educators—as relatives, peers, community members, political officials, social networks, popular culture, and additional outlets offer narratives and information to students that may or may not reinforce knowledge constructed in the classroom (Nemeth, Butler, Kinloch, Washington, & Reed, 2014).. Teachers should work with students to reimagine the community and its various resources as extensions of the classroom, and vice versa, as a way to counter liberal and pluralist multiculturalists’ efforts to disconnect classrooms from the socio-political contexts of communities. As a result, students begin to engage in projects of inquiry that rely upon multiple perspectives. Students and teachers committed to critical multiculturalism often develop

research with intergenerational coalitions at its center who identify social issues via action research or community engagements (May 1999; May & Sleeter, 2010). Due to its interests in grounded approach to community concerns, where issues are identified and resolved by a collection of community members, critical multiculturalism can be viewed as a grassroots theoretical framework that conceptualizes students and educators as both learners and teachers. Instead, scholars are calling for more spaces that reposition youth and children as active change agents, educators, and collaborators. Such repositioning can inform community-classroom partnerships and engagements, which are central to this research.

In order to develop new levels of trust across and within the differences and diversities of the students and community members involved, community engagements require reflection, reciprocity, and respect. Through such engagements, students, teachers, and community members establish trust and develop relationships that give rise to relevant approaches or solutions to community needs (Swaminathan, 2005). Calderón and Cadena (2007) highlight how community engagements via critical service learning projects emerge from students’ commitment to all three requirements. In their research,

Calderón and Cadena (2007) document how students worked with “community-based groups and churches” to develop a matricula service day. The service day became an opportunity to assist and allow immigrant Mexican workers apply for a matricula consular card. The card, which is recognized by Mexican government, allows workers to

“open bank accounts, cash checks, send remittances abroad, and to defend their human rights” (Calderón & Cadena, 2007, p.66). Students’ commitment to listening and shifting positionalities contributed to the service day’s success as 550 of 1,000 applicants were

able to leave the event with their matricula card. As seen in multicultural education classrooms working toward “transformative knowledge” (Banks, 1995) and away from the “banking model of education” (Freire, 1995/1970), the students recognized and negotiated their positions within the community. They did not enter with the mentality to

“help” or “fix,” but with the mentality to serve. Service meant dialoguing with and listening to the community members, who then determined to what capacity could their skills, knowledge and positions as English-speaking or multi-lingual college students and

American citizens be used. The need for matricula cards then informed the learning, as students became aware of “a larger struggle as to whether immigrant workers, especially undocumented workers, will have access to some of the same basic democratic and human rights that other citizens have” (Calderón & Cadena, 2007). In learning of the structures that contributed to the oppression of immigrant and migrant workers, students came to see that some of those same structures simultaneously granted them social, political and cultural “advantages” (Adams, Bell, & Griffin, 2007).

Critical multiculturalism requires students to learn within and across difference, which can occur through “world traveling” (Lugones, 2003) or “boundary crossing”

(Kinloch, 2009, 2011). In the Agbayani and Alternative Spring Break project, students traveled to and lived within the community (Calderón & Cadena, 2007). During their stay at Agbayani Village, a community member explained to them how changes in the community demographics, from predominately retired Filipino farm workers to predominately retired Mexican-origin farm workers, reflected changes in the state’s social, political, and economic climate. Although the climate changed, the oppression of workers of color remained intact. According to Banks (1995), transformative knowledge

calls students to become more active in the construction of new knowledge and the creation of a just and democratic society. One critical service-learning project demonstrated the processes of transformative knowledge and emerged as a collaborative effort to document and preserve the community’s history. Such an endeavor uncovered how American society’s “tolerance”, rather than affirmation, of diversity and difference limited the village’s access to the resources necessary to preserve their histories. By providing resources to document their stories, the student took up Nieto’s (1994a) call for

“affirming” Filipino and Mexican identities in and contributions to the “fabric” of

American economy, culture and history.

Through community engagements, classrooms are reconceptualized as spaces to name and challenge forms of oppression that contribute to human suffering (Kincheloe &

Steinberg, 1997; Nemeth, Butler, Kinloch, Washington, & Reed, 2014). Students, teachers, and community members look to community concerns as curriculum and attend to “unsuspected level that the power of patriarchy, white supremacy, and class elitism accomplish their hurtful work” (Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997, p.25). Classrooms informed by critical multiculturalism often bring attention to “hidden curriculum”

(Apple, 1979, 2000) and its ability to produce and maintain racism, sexism, and class bias. In asserting that schools are “contested public spaces shaped by forces of power”

(Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997, p.41), criticalists work toward naming the “forces of power” as structures, practices, policies, or additional entities in hopes of developing ways to dismantle, alter or challenge them. In classrooms informed by critical multiculturalism, students and teachers negotiate and often share their roles as learner and educator, which disrupts the power differentials embedded in the “banking model of

education” (Freire, 1995/1970) and makes room engagements committed to equity pedagogy (Banks & Banks, 1995).

Theoretical Anachronisms: Youth Marginalization

In its commitment to equity pedagogy, critical multiculturalism is attentive to historical forms of activism and educational reform that move toward responsive and humanizing classrooms and curricula, as seen in the theory’s foundations (May & Sleeter,

2010). Therefore, the framework, informed by protest, struggle, and resistance, is ideal for analyzing how power and difference inform historical and contemporary “activist narratives” (Perkins, 2000). However, those who were often on the front lines of protest, struggle, and resistance in social movements that informed the framework were students and youth (McGuire; Marshall). While the framework acknowledges young historical activists as instrumental to social change, there is little scholarship in critical multiculturalism that focuses on young people engaged in contemporary activism.

Discussions of contemporary youth activism are often disconnected from education spaces (i.e., classrooms, schools) and/or couched in other fields of study, such as New

Social Movements (Gordon 2007, 2008) or critical literacy (Kinloch, 2009, 2010;

Morrell, 2008).

Critical multiculturalism has not accounted for the ways youth work toward/demand social justice in classrooms. Therefore, I turn to critical literacy and New

Social Movements for insight into the methods youth employ and create in an effort to reclaim their humanity and rename their identities. In reimagining youth as activists within the classroom, the conversation looks to critical literacy and New Social

Movements’ literature on identity, activism and ageism within social movement analysis.

Collectively, the fields unpack youth marginalization and expand the margins of critical multiculturalism to consider the narratives of youth as central to creating equitable classrooms and democratic societies. It is my contention that this framework could be enhanced by contemporary and historical scholarship in critical literacy. In the next chapter, I explore literature in critical literacy that is attentive to specific components of marginalized youth, such as voice, identity, and activism.

Chapter 2

Reconstructing Narratives and Youth Identities

It is 1965 and a young Afeni Shakur stands among the crowd gathered “on the corner of

Seventh Avenue and 125th Street” as Bobby Seale, co-founder of the Black Panther Party, announces that the Panthers will open offices in New York City (Guy, 2004, p.59):

“…Bobby Seale saying that right there with passion, with intelligence. The way he said those ten points made me want that more than anything. So there I was wrapped in my Africanness. For the first time, loving myself and loving, now that there was something I could do with my life. There was now something I could do with all this aggression, and all this fear. Because up until this point, I wasn’t shit…”

“So, the Panther Party for me, at that time, clarified my situation,” she says.

“They took my rage and channeled it against them [she points outside], inside of us [she holds her heart]. They educated my mind and gave me direction. With that direction came hope, and I loved them for giving me that. Because I never had hope in my life. I never dreamed of a better place or hoped for a better world for my mama, and my sister, and me. I just never did. They took me and looked at me and said: ‘Afeni, you are strong so use your strength to help the weak. You are smart, so use your mind to teach the ignorant.’ And that’s what I did...” Afeni makes her point and closes her case, but I am not finished making mine: “I’m just saying that you had all of that in you before you met the Panthers. You discount that. Your own brilliance. Your own courage.”

“No,” she says, “No, I don’t. My grandmama always told me I was smart and would be a great teacher one day” (Guy, 2004, pp. 61-63).

I look to one of many conversations between activist Afeni Shakur and Jasmine

Guy, her friend and co-author of her biography, as a starting point for this chapter, as I consider relations between youth identity and youth activism. After losing a friend to a network of inhumane systems (i.e., unemployment, inadequate health care) and being frustrated with the educational system, eighteen-year-old Alice Faye (now known as

Afeni) turns her attention to the Black Panthers because they gave her “direction”—a sense of stability and a space to channel her unbridled anger. Instead of mulling in her frustrations and disappointments, she worked alongside other young Black women and men to develop seminars to educate community members about their legal rights and programs to provide breakfast for schoolchildren who would otherwise attend school hungry.

Her reflections on joining the Black Panther Party push me to think about identity as narratives (Moje & Luke, 2009), especially about how such narratives inform how, when, and why an individual engages in activism, or social and/or political action against injustice. For me, her reflection raises various questions: What are some of the sociopolitical and educational challenges that youth face in this twenty-first century multicultural and democratic society? How do youth come to speak out against these challenges as well as against other forms of injustice and inequalities? How might educators, researchers, and community members come to see youth, especially brown and

Black youth, as a “vulnerable”, yet an empowered population? In an effort to address these and other questions, I turn attention to literacy scholars who explore how the

“social construction of risk” (Vasudevan & Campano, 2009) has often relied upon misrepresentations of youth, especially Black and brown youth living in urban communities. Scholars such as Vasudevan and Campano (2009) examine how public policies and images in mainstream media work in tandem to unfortunately position brown and Black urban youth as illiterate deviants in unsalvageable bodies. Consequently, educating “deviant” and “unsalvageable” youth becomes an issue of public safety and security—as their successful participation in literacy programs and academic performance in classrooms are seen as antidotes to their assumed criminal, suspicious, and delinquent nature.

The second section of this chapter explores the conversations among critical literacy scholars (Camangian, 2010; Kinloch, 2009, 2012; Kirkland & Jackson, 2009;

Mahiri, 2004) who highlighted the ways that youth speak back to overly negative political and social misrepresentations. Scholars work alongside young people as they reclaim their individual identities from criminalizing generalizations through literacies that emerge from and/or through spoken word, art, clothing, and research. By developing critical research agendas and engaging with an array of qualitative research methods (i.e., action research, autoethnographic writing) with educational researchers, urban youth also challenge myths about their inability to “do school” according to standardized ideals of attaining academic excellence, becoming critical thinkers, or developing and performing higher-order tasks.

The third section of the chapter begins to fuse the work of critical literacy scholars, who focus heavily on youth identity and counterculture, with theories of youth activism emerging from studies in New Social Movements (Deutsch & Theodorou, 2010;

Gordon, 2007, 2008, 2009). Critical literacy scholars’ examinations of youth literacies position youth as empowered individuals capable of inciting local and global change

(Calderón & Cadena, 2007; Cammarota, 2011; Kinloch, 2009, 2010). Therefore, I look to scholarship in New Social Movements—a subfield of sociology that examines the political infrastructure, cultural milieu, and historical contexts that contribute to historical and contemporary social movements—to begin theorizing about youth activist identities.

From interpersonal relationships to “activist identity” formation, New Social Movement scholars are invested in identifying “ideal factors” for organizing, mobilizing, and sustaining social movements.

Youth Identities as “A Narrative of Risk”

Research in adolescent and critical literacy documents the experiences that young people have as they narrate, and therefore reconstruct, their identities. Moje and Luke

(2009) propose that there are five metaphors for the ways identities are conceptualized and researched: identity as difference, identity as sense of self/subjectivity, identity as mind or consciousness, identity as narrative, and identity as position. This dissertation study builds upon their discussion of “identity as narratives.” I turn to scholars who focus on the stories that youth tell and retell, as well as the stories that are told about young people, to consider how youth may or may not inform the social constructions of youth as social deviants (Vasudevan & Campano, 2009), illiterate (Kirkland, 2009), and criminals (Moje, 2000, 2002). In order to discuss how young people work against ill- constructed narratives, the conversation begins with the narratives created by one- dimensional media portrayals, policy writing, and educational reform imposed upon youth. I begin the conversation with recent events that pushed me to think about

oppressive structures, activism, youth identities, and the livelihood of young people.

These events include: the murder of two African American males, the assault of an

African American adolescent female, the assault of a biracial male, and the attempted assassination of a Pakistani girl.

Violence Against Youth: Who Are the Threats?

I begin with February 26, 2012. After purchasing a bag of Skittles and a can of

Arizona Iced Tea, Trayvon Martin, a 17-year-old African American male, walks in the rain through a residential suburb in Sanford, Florida. George Zimmerman (GZ), a 28- year-old multi-racial male, is a neighborhood watch volunteer in Sanford. He spots

Trayvon and places the following phone call to 911:

GZ: There’s a real suspicious guy in my neighborhood…This guy looks like he’s

up to no good or he’s on drugs or something. It’s raining and he’s just walking

around, looking about...

911 Dispatcher: Is he White, Black or Hispanic?

GZ: He looks Black…

911 Dispatcher: What is he wearing?

GZ: A dark hoodie, a gray hoodie and either jeans or sweatpants and white tennis

shoes… He’s just walking around looking at the houses (Young Turks, 2012).

Shortly after the phone call to the Sanford police, Zimmerman follows Trayvon.

Although the dispatcher tells Zimmerman not to pursue the young man, interrogates, shoots and kills Trayvon (Watkins, 2013). Trayvon’s death highlights the ways that young people, especially those of color, are misperceived and become vulnerable to surveillance, discipline, and other forms of adult power. In the 911 call, Zimmerman

read Trayvon’s clothing, race, and presence as “suspicious.” As a “Black” male walking through the suburban neighborhood wearing “a dark…gray hoodie and either jeans or sweatpants,” Trayvon was misread as out-of-place by Zimmerman. Like Trayvon, the labels victims, delinquents, “troubled” and suspicious are imposed upon young people of color and youth from poor and working class communities by sensationalized headlines

(Kimmel, 2008; Waldron, 2011), television and movies (Ardizzone, 2007), skewed research statistics (Toldson & Morton, 2012), and public policies (Ginwright,

Cammarota, Noguera, 1995). Such labels often erroneously construct youth as troublemakers responsible for their own failures and fates; leaving no one else accountable for their academic performances, incarceration, or as in the case of Trayvon

Martin, their deaths. Consider the following recent acts of violence against young people:

Chavis Carter, a 21-year-old African American male, was found shot in the back of a police car in Jonesboro, Arkansas on July 29, 2012. Although the bullet entered his right temple and the young man was left-handed and handcuffed, Jonesboro police claim that the young man shot himself in the head (Jeltsen, 2012). Carter was a “passenger in a

‘suspicious vehicle’ mentioned in a 911 call because it was ‘observed driving down the street with its lights off’”; turns out Carter had a warrant for his arrest in his home state of

Mississippi for violating probation (Blow, 2012).

Weeks later, Dejamon Baker, a 12-year-old African American girl, was tasered by a police officer (Hanson, 2012) in a Victoria’s Secret located in Saint Louis, Missouri.

On August 1, 2012, the officer used a taser on Baker because she became

“uncontrollable” as she watched another officer arrest her mother in the store for traffic

violations. Similarly, a police officer used excessive force to control a young person of color in South Carolina. On September 18, 2012, Treyshawn Lambert, an 18-year-old biracial male was tasered by a police officer while in a high school principal’s office

(Harper, 2012). The young Georgetown High School student was tasered when he became “defiant” in the office and began fighting with the police officer.

In a country several miles east of the United States, adult men attempted to execute a young woman less than a month after the violence inflicted upon Treyshawn

Lambert. In Mingora, Pakistan, members of the Taliban shot Malala Yousafzai, a 15- year-old Pakistani girl, in the head and neck on October 9, 2012 (Walsh, 2012). On a bus filled with young children, Yousafzai was identified and shot at point-blank range due to her advocacy for women’s rights and education.

Such acts echo Lesko’s (1996) argument that youth, in terms of how they have been constructed in the social imagination, “cannot go backward to childhood nor forward to adulthood ‘before their time’ without incurring derogatory labels, for example, immature, loose, or precocious” (Lesko, 1996, p. 456). In the cases of Chavis, Dejamon,

Treyshawn and Malala, young people are seen as emotionally unstable, uncontrollable, and dangerous. These tragedies also raise various questions about the construction and protection of youth identities: Where did these “labels” and narratives (e.g., youth as

“defiant”, deviant, and “uncontrollable”) originate? Who and/or what systems are responsible for keeping these misconstructions in place? What are the implications of such labels in the lives of youth, their families, and communities? What work must be done in order to challenge and dismantle these misleading labels? In an effort to address these and other questions, this chapter turns to work of various scholars within education

to think about youth identity construction, specifically the roles that media, research and public policy play—and have played—in perpetuating ill-conceived images of young people.

(Up)Rooting and Reading Risk: Media, Policies & Reports

Nearly two decades ago, Lesko (1996) identified and began to contest “four professionalized definitions of youth” (p.453) that emerged from the work of individuals in medical and mental health professions, social science, policy, and social work. The implications of the medical and social science definition of youth as “hormone-raging, identity-seeking, and peer-conforming” (Lesko, 1996, p.454) position young people as passive followers of their peers and celebrities. As a result, youth are misperceived as people incapable of making logical decisions about anything from clothes to sex, from drugs to career aspirations. Conceptions of youth as “prone to violence, pregnancy, motherhood, school dropout, unemployment, and other deviances” (Lesko, 1996, p.454) fail to explicitly discuss development, public policies, migration and additional structures that may give rise to what Lesko (1996) refers to as “risks.” I define risks as lived experiences that threaten the well-being and safety of young people; hence, risks increase vulnerability as young people become more susceptible to poverty and/or higher mortality rates. In positioning youth as “victims/patients of: sexual assault, dysfunctional families, or of addictive patterns” (Lesko, 1996, p.454), professionals in social work and mental health also may fail to name and analyze the factors that attribute to assault, dysfunction and addiction (i.e., access to legal protection, adequate mental and physical health care, etc.). In their efforts to identify child rights, institutions such as the United

Nations work against the conception of youth as “property-of-parents” (Lesko, 1996,

p.454). Through their Convention on the Rights of the Child, the United Nations advocate for the conception of young people as valuable citizens, activists, and human beings.

Education scholars (Ginwright, Cammarota, & Noguera, 1996) who focus on social justice and youth policy invest in interdisciplinary shifts from the social disorganization thesis and dismantle the four pervasive “definitions” of youth. According to the thesis, youth, especially young people of color, and their parents become byproducts of their urban environments. Through this lens, “the culture and structure of school and society are off the hook” (Abowitz, 2000, p.890) and not held accountable for poverty, underemployment, underresourced classrooms and other inequities that perpetuate marginalization. Scholars examine how youth and their families become active participants, responsible for shaping the policies and narratives that create communities, neighborhoods, and other environments. The individual (Cammarota 2011;

Ginwright, 2010; Noguera) and collaborative works of Ginwright, Cammarota, and

Noguera (1996) critique polarized conceptions of youth as either high-risk victims

(“problem-driven”) or passive consumers (“possibility-driven”). Their critiques call attention to systemic and institutional ills that prevent youth from engaging in democracy in equitable ways (i.e., access to economic and political resources). Instead of constructing young people as disengaged, Ginwright, Cammarota, and Noguera (1996) advocate for policies and programs that position youth as critically conscious citizens who are aware of inequities and injustices. They propose that new policies require a new framework; hence, their “social justice youth development” model (Ginwright &

Cammarota, 2002) serves as grounded theory for policymakers to account for how and for what reasons youth demand educational equity.

Noguera (2000) advocates for increased discussions on youth perceptions of violence in order to create safer communities and schools. He asserts that scholars, young people and adults should collectively discuss violence in “media, sports, and officially sanctioned forms of state-sponsored violence (i.e., war and police actions)” and their impact on both youth and the adults with whom they may encounter (i.e., police officers, community members, and teachers). To create more effective forms of action that steer away from inflicting structural violence, he emphasizes the need to “hear” and acknowledge students. By placing emphasis on young people’s lived realities and encounters with violence, adults and young people can begin to propose policies that reflect student concerns.

By placing youth at the center of policymaking, Ginwright and Cammarota (2007) highlight how youth engage in the praxis of Social Justice Youth Development (SJYD) model. The conception of youth as citizens is central model, which was created to

“facilitate and enhance young people’s awareness of their personal potential, community responsibility, and broader humanity” (Cammarota, 2011, p. 829). The Social Justice

Education Program was designed for students attending Cerro High School, located in

Tucson, Arizona, to develop participatory action research projects that address school and/or community issues. High school student Yolo Rodriquez and educational researcher Julio Cammarota (2011) explore the potentials of the model, especially in the lives and educational experiences of marginalized youth. As a Mexican immigrant student disenchanted with placement in trade classes (i.e, welding and cooking classes),

Rodriquez develops a project with his classmates to document his placement in low-level classes and other “educational inequalities experienced” at Cerro High (p.838). Through

the photo documentary about Latino students in trade classes and a special education classroom, Rodriquez, classmates, and other schoolmates who contributed to the project presented to the Tuscon school board, revealing inequities that permeate curricula, classrooms, and textbooks at Cerro High. The transplanting of special education students from “the abandoned shop garage” (p.840) to a brand-new classroom was one of many outcomes of the Social Justice Education Program.

Ginwright (2010) explores how Oakland youth adopt the SJYD model and challenge “social toxins” through their work with Leadership Excellence. He suggests that “social toxins” (p.16) have given rise to narcissistic, nihilistic identities and behaviors which must be addressed in order to re-imagine Black urban communities as places of resilience, resistance, and sustainability. By recounting the social, political and economic history of Oakland, Ginwright illustrates the emergence of social ills that destroyed families, collective identities and notions of social responsibilities. In response to destroyed communities, he advocates for “radical healing,” which builds “a strong, healthy relationship, [nurtures] healthy racial identities among African American youth and [fosters] a strong political consciousness about community issues in ways that compel them to confront pressing neighborhood problems” (p.8). He suggests that temporarily transplanting youth from their urban environments will offer physical distance necessary to develop a heightened sense of awareness to see their communities.

For example, two youth participants from East Oakland, California—Tré and Lateefa— place their experiences in Ghana, West Africa at the center of their journey toward political activism. As a result of their experiences in West Africa, Tré and Lateefa

construct political, racial identities and a heightened awareness that allows them to address community issues such as teen pregnancy and voting rights.

Conflating “Illiteracy” and Risk

Coming to see youth as aware, problem-solving citizens begins to dismantle conceptions of youth as apathetic consumers. In their research, Vasudevan and Campano

(2009) document how literacy reports and policy continue to construct youth as illiterate deviants. Through an extensive review of national reports, like the National Endowment for the Arts’ Reading at Risk (p.316), and policies like No Child Left Behind geared toward literacy reform, they suggest that the “literacy crisis” is often discussed as a

“safety issue” that should be handled by the U.S. Department of Defense, rather than the

U.S. Department of Education. In an attempt to challenge the “blaming the victim” rhetoric, Vasudevan and Campano (2009) call attention to “structural violence (e.g., poverty, school tracking, and severely underresourced and overcrowded schools) and direct violence (e.g., racial profiling and hate crimes)” (p.314) that youth often face.

They assert that violence stems from factors (e.g., underresourced schools, high-poverty neighborhoods, underemployment) and systems (e.g., school discipline and surveillance) that are often beyond young people’s control.

Vasudevan and Campano (2009) highlight how corporation-supported research perpetuates problematic narratives that connect literacy to citizenship. Corporation- sponsored research relies heavily upon the “pedagogization” of literacy (Street, 1995), which examines reading classroom-sanctioned textbooks, performing well on standardized, high-stakes tests, and attaining a low-skill level job. For example, national literacy reports (i.e, Reading at Risk and Writing Next) that often relied upon narrow

definitions of literacy, reading, and writing, dismissed and/or neglected the literacy practices of people of color, multilingual communities, and working-class communities.

The implications of literacy reports often conflated participation in “standardized” literacy practices with successful civic participation. For example, Reading at Risk drew parallels between “a decline in literary reading” and “an erosion in cultural and civic participation” (p.317, qtd. from Reading at Risk, p.xii); while Advancing Literacy

Initiative’s Writing Next concluded that young people “who have difficulty writing will experience direct consequences in their ability to find a job and be successful in their higher educational endeavors” (p.318). Therefore, reports like Writing Next suggest that non- or “struggling” readers and writers will become a shiftless population of undereducated, unemployed and illiterate. Such projections have detrimental consequences for youth, especially multilingual, working-class and/or youth of color, within and beyond the classroom. One detrimental consequence is punishing “struggling” readers through grade retention.

Issues of Surveillance and Discipline

“A ‘dangerous symbiosis’ (Wacquant, 2001) between urban schools and jails has emerged” (Vasudevan and Campano, 2009, p.314)

In the classroom, youth who fail to “successfully” engage in standardized literacy and school practices (i.e., raising hands in class, wearing ‘proper’ attire to school, not questioning teachers or school staff) are subjected to various forms of discipline and surveillance. Zero tolerance policies, surveillance cameras, metal detectors, and the presence of police/security officers transform urban schools into “prison-like settings” rather than sites of learning, dialogue and humanizing engagements (Ardizzone, 2007,

p.45; Ferguson, 2000; Fine, 1991). The consequences of such measures heavily impact historically marginalized groups of students more than their counterparts. Students of color, multilingual students, students with learning disabilities and/or those from working-class communities are often subjected to higher instances of surveillance—via tracking, expulsion/suspension, and grade retention (Toldson & Morton, 2012).

Scholars highlight how the structural and direct violence that young people encounter in classrooms replicate those they are vulnerable to in local communities.

Ferguson (2000) investigates how adults misread and respond to African American male students in Rosa Parks Elementary School. Her work with “twenty fifth- and sixth-grade

African American boys” (p.9) includes observations in the school’s “Punishing Room” and recording information from the students’ discipline files. She observes that for minor infractions (i.e., tardiness or walking the halls without a pass) Black boys are disciplined more frequently and harshly than their White peers. She argues that adultification, or when young people’s “transgressions are made to take on a sinister, intentional, fully conscious tone that is stripped of any element of childish naïveté” (Ferguson, 2000, p.83), stems from pervasive images of adult African American males as threatening, violent, and criminal (Ardizzone, 2007; Jackson, 2006). The adultification of African American young people also permeates the treatment of African American girls (as seen in the work of Fordham, 1993; Morris, 2007; Waldron, 2011) and youth from historically marginalized communities. For example, implications of adultification of young people resulted in a 2012 federal civil lawsuit against a school district in Meridian, Mississippi

(Frieden, 2012; Martinez, 2012). In the Mississippi school district, where 86% of the students are African American, “children who talk back to teachers, violate dress codes

and commit minor infractions are handcuffed and sent to youth court where they are denied their rights” (Frieden, 2012). “School-to-prison pipelines” like those in Meridian demonstrate the ways that young people are forced to occupy a dangerous social gray area between childhood (lack of civil rights) and adulthood (entry into the criminal justice system). In an effort to reclaim schools as equitable spaces of engagement, I am interested in the ways that youth work within classrooms to challenge the structural, direct violence stemming from various forms of adultification.

Constructing New Narratives via Youth Literacies

This dissertation study, which is theoretically situated within critical multiculturalism, looks to critical literacy scholarship to reclaim identities and culture from deficit model discussions that cast both as threats to academic achievement. Instead of focusing solely on achievement gaps and cultural mismatch theories (Ladson-Billings,

1994), the conversation becomes more about creating equitable spaces for learning through engagement, inquiry and dialogue. Therefore, this conversation continues by exploring the work of scholars who explore how young people construct identities and make meaning within and beyond classrooms. Duncan (2005) proposes that, “access to communication technologies provides black youth with the means for controlling both the material forces and the flow of information that shape their lives” (Duncan, 2005, p.21). While “technologies” are vital to Black youth, I argue that they are vital to the lives and identities of all youth, especially youth of color and those from working-class and multilingual communities. In the field of critical literacy, scholars (Camangian,

2010; Kinloch, 2009; Kirkland & Jackson, 2009; Mahiri, 2004) highlight youth literacies, or acts of speaking, writing, reading, and being through which young people reconstruct

their identities. As a result, young people address issues of oppression, power, identity, and access through their clothing, accessories, talk, and artistic creations, or forms of

“communication technologies” (Duncan, 2005, p.21). Critical literacy scholars collaborate with youth to dismantle the previously discussed “narratives of risk” by speaking against the institutions and structures that generate “risks,” or threats to young people’s safety, health, and equitable access to resources and democracy (i.e., political and civil rights).

To understand urban youth literacies (Moje, 2000, 2002; Kinloch, 2012, Kirkland,

2009; Morrell, 2008), I revisit conversations about young people in literacy education research. Inquiry-based projects with communities of color, youth, community members, researchers, and educators challenge the notion of “literacy as property” (Prendergast

2003). Through collaborative projects, literacy is reshaped from individuals acts of reading and understood as social exchanges, shared acts and co-constructed knowledge.

This “shared” and “social” view of literacy builds upon New Literacy Studies’ emphasis on multiple and situated literacies. In New Literacy Studies, the concept of literacies recognizes multifaceted and social nature of reading, writing, and speaking. Cope &

Kalantzis (2003) capture the ‘social’ in their discussion of “multiliteracies,” which explores multimodal (i.e., visual, auditory, etc.) communication. Street’s (1993)

“multiple literacies” focuses on how social interactions, geophysical place and space influence “uses and meanings of different culturally inscribed…conceptions of reading and writing” (quoted in Street 2005, p.417). Literacies emerged from scholars supporting the ideological model and striving to move beyond the autonomous-ideological debate within literacy studies (Street, 1993, 2005). The autonomous model of literacy positions

literacy as an acquirable set of reading and writing skills, available to all people regardless of social class, economic status, racial/ethnic/cultural identities, or geographical location. As a result, literacy becomes ‘the great equalizer’ as “it is assumed that the acquisition of literacy will in itself lead to, for example, higher cognitive skills, improved economic performance, greater equality, and so on” (Street, 2005, p.418).

Street (2005) proposed the ideological model to counter the meritocratic premises undergirding the autonomous model. Instead of being a “technical and neutral skill,” literacy is reconceptualized as “a social practice…that it is always embedded in socially constructed epistemological principles” (Street, 2005, p.419). People are positioned as participants in and contributors to various social practices, or literacies, related to speaking, reading, writing and communicating (Cope & Kalantzis, 1993; Street, 1993,

2005). Therefore, New Literacy Studies’ scholars account for “the everyday meanings and uses of literacy in specific cultural contexts” and attempt to connect such understandings to educational practices (Street, 2005, p.417). Although scholars focus on practices outside of school contexts and their relation to classroom teaching and learning

(Hull & Schultz, 2002; Mahiri, 2004), their work highlights the importance of examining the spaces and places where literacy acts and practices occur.

Scripting: Readings and Writings of Youth Visual Literacies

Returning to the conversation that opened this chapter and reflecting upon Afeni

Shakur’s opening encounter with Bobby Seale, I begin to raise questions about youth conceptions of themselves. In what ways are youth, especially youth of color, constructing identities that reject social constructions of youth as deviant, illiterate and defiant? I look to the young people who are central to critical literacy research and their

literacies for insight into how youth engage in a spectrum of identities through various acts of speaking, reading, writing, and being. In scholarship about urban youth literacies, researchers highlight students’ out-of-school, non-traditional practices. Such research explores acts including but not limited to the production of graffiti and tags (Bruna, 2007;

McGillivray & Curwen, 2007), the narration of body art/tattoos (Kirkland, 2009), the construction of lowriders (Cowan, 2004), and the negotiation of clothing (Cowan, 2004;

Kirkland & Jackson, 2009). Literacy scholars not only push me to see youth practices, as well as students of color, students from poor and/or working-class, and from multilingual communities as valid and valuable to education.

Adolescent and critical literacy scholars turn the microphones and lecterns over to young people who “teach” adults and their peers how to read visual literacy artifacts that range from graffiti to clothing to body art. In their explorations of graffiti and tagging, researchers (Bruna, 2007; McGillivray & Curwen, 2007; Moje, 2000) highlight ways young people claim space for their cultural identities within classrooms and communities.

McGillivray & Curwen (2007) argue that tagging—writing of “tags”, names, or brief messages with spray paint or paint markers—becomes a social practice through which young people engage in conversations with other taggers. The practice, which is informed by specific rules and symbols understood by conversationalists, allows multiple people to collectively contribute to meaning-making processes. Mexican American students in a

Midwestern high school science classroom attempt to make meaning of their positions within and beyond the school via “tagging.” Students often write on whiteboards, scribble on bulletin boards, and engrave in small sections of school furniture the names of

Mexican communities and/or towns from which they and their families came. Bruna

(2007) asserts that students perform their nationality and geopolitical allegiances in a school that often marginalizes them via low-tracked, underresourced classes, such as a science classroom without proper lab equipment, where students are still expected to perform dissections and other procedures. By tagging classrooms, young people speak back against spaces such as schools that often isolate, criminalize, and erase them.

Similar to students who tag spaces, youth who are central to Cowan (2004) and

Kirkland’s (2009) research attempt to reclaim their bodies from the erroneous, monochromatic social constructions of youth as a group of violent and illiterate thugs.

Through an intentional re-reading of their clothing and body art, the bodies of young

African American and Mexican American youth become spaces for their own scripting and storytelling. In southern California, Cowan (2004) finds that young Mexican

American men and women selectively blend American and Mexican symbols to display their transnational identities. In lowrider culture, men inscribe Mexican cultural symbols onto American cars; in the artwork of Mexican American youth, students blend Spanish and Catholic symbols with elements from American youth culture (i.e., graffiti writing, and images of young people wearing bandanas, hoodies, oversized jeans). He notes that in the context of late 1990s southern California, elaborately remodeled cars, graffiti, and certain styles of dress were often associated with violence, illegal drugs, and gang cultures. However, through interviews with students and members of the lowrider communities, cars and drawings become symbols of cultural hybridity, not delinquent behavior. Cowan (2004) documents how Mexican Americans merge images, symbols, and structures within an American context as a way to assert their national, geopolitical, and cultural identities. In cases where images of Mexican flags are painted onto the hood

of remodeled American-made cars (Ford or Chevrolet), the resulting lowriders become symbols of status. In a piece of art created by students, the young artist incorporates symbols of the Virgin de Guadelupe into an image of a young woman wearing oversized jeans, a hoodie, and bandana. The merging of “delinquent scripts” (i.e., baggy jeans, bandanas, and hoodies on a young person) and “sacred scripts” (i.e., the Virgin de

Guadelupe) attempt to challenge the notion that “street” clothes signify gang affiliation.

Therefore, the artforms emphasize the importance of coming to see young people as multidimensional cultural critics and producers, rather than one-dimensional consumers.

Similar to Mexican American youth, Derrick Todd, an African American male, attempts to claim identities through reappropriated symbols (Kirkland, 2009). Each story that Derrick shares about the history and meaning of a tattoo serves multiple purposes: reclaiming his own identity from negative depictions of African American males; and reclaiming tattoos from their association with criminality. Through narration, Derrick helps Kirkland conceptualize tattoos as vital to revising his “shattered self-portrait”

(p.375). Kirkland’s discussion of Derrick’s tattoos as “literacy artifacts” successfully demonstrates how youth literacies are social, evolutionary practices that are also transformative and resistant. Like clothing and cultural symbols in lowrider culture, tattoos are social because they rely upon symbols, images or words that are borrowed, but are unique to the artist/owner, as reflected in the photographs and positioning of

Derrick’s tattoos. Secondly, Derrick and Kirkland (2009) position African American male adolescent voices as sources of valuable sanctioned knowledge. Historically,

African American males are seen as the unsalvageable outcasts of the educational system who lack literacy (p.376). Through intimate conversations about Derrick’s inked skin,

Kirkland and Derrick simultaneously challenge negative notions about Black males. The transformative aspects stem from the storytelling that arises from tattoos, as stories challenge notions of power and access. Each image, word, symbol, positioning, and design are part of a larger story—one that is either unheard or criminalized by mainstream American culture/society—about Derrick’s beliefs, ways of being, speaking, and ultimately his position as an African American male. As Derrick shares, and

Kirkland transcribes/interprets, the narrative about his first two tattoos as it relates to the death of his younger cousin (p.383), the two men work together to disrupt the belief that

African American males are silent, impassive, remedial literacy deviants.

Collectively, literacy scholars and youth illustrate how clothing, accessories, and art especially in the lives of Black and brown youth, are important forms of communication that are often misread or ignored. Instead of reading tattoos, baggy jeans, and hoodies as signs of gang-related activity, scholars (Bruna, 2007; Deutsch, 2010;

Cowan, 2004; Kirkland, 2009, Moje, 2000) urge educators, researchers, and adults to be more aware of underlying messages of struggle, resilience, and memory that students might convey through their dress and appearance. Critical literacy scholars (Cowan,

2004; Bruna, 2007; Kirkland, 2009; Moje, 2000) demonstrate that responsible readings of young people are only available through the willingness to discuss stereotypes and actively engage in getting to know youth as multifaceted individuals. Their work offers researchers, educators, or persons interested in youth identity new lenses through which to view reappropriated spaces (i.e., classrooms, cars, or their bodies) as sites of resistant and reclamation narratives.

Reclaiming “Property”: Youth Making Meaning of Space, Place and Race

New Literacy Studies’ emphasis on space/place and literacy practices—such as acts of reading, speaking, writing, and communicating—adds a dimension of critical literacy’s focus on literacy practices and power. By merging the notion of multiple literacies with critical theory, contemporary critical literacy scholars (Camangian, 2010;

Kinloch, 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012; Morrell, 2008; Paris, 2010) collaborate with young people and reveal how youth literacy practices reject the status quo. Historical and contemporary investigations suggest how literacy, when conceived as property, has been used to construct brown and Black people as illiterate and to construct urban and rural communities as literacy-deficient spaces (Kenreich, 2010; Modan, 2006; Prendergast,

2003). “Literacy as property” informs the linear logic of the cultural deficit model, under which language and literacy become synonymous (Lee, 2006). Within this model,

African American and Latino/a youth in urban areas are characterized as social delinquents (Cammarota, 2011) whose homes and cultural, racial, and/or linguistic backgrounds are viewed as deficits (Lee, 2006). Since such deficits prevent African

American and Latino/a youth from completely mastering the “language of wider communication” (Smitherman, 1977), “literacy” (i.e., school-sanctioned practices of reading and writing) does not “belong” to African American and Latino/a youth living in or attending schools in urban areas. Therefore, critical literacy scholars collaborate with youth and community members to dismantle how “literacy as property” denigrated urban communities, marginalized youth, and infantilize/victimize community members

(Kinloch, 2009; Morrell, 2008; Weis & Fine, 2000). Collectively, scholars and youth challenge the cultural deficit model as they attempt to “deconstruct the urban landscape

and generate geographies of difference and resistance” (Kenreich, 2008, p. 67). Through their work, scholars (Camangian, 2010; Kinloch 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012; Morrell, 2008) reclaim urban spaces from negative media portrayals of spaces of violence to sites of transformative knowledge (Banks, 1996). Their work similarly reclaims urban youth from passive learners to researchers, activists, and educators.

In continuing to think about how youth reclaim space, critical literacy scholars look to collaborative projects with youth that formulate new ideas about literacy’s relation to power, place, and identities. Leander and Sheehy (2004) advocate for research that work toward “theorizing space as a social product and process” (Leander & Sheehy,

2004, p.1). Through critical collaborations, dialogue, and reciprocal exchanges, critical literacy scholars and youth explore how “material participants in the world—such as the bodies—become sites for the writing of myriad texts” (Leander & Sheehy, 2004, p.3). In other words, students, educators and community members “become sites” as they engage with one another interchangeably as activists, advocates, researchers, historians, learners, and teachers. As they collectively analyze community issues, they begin to write “myriad texts” about the state of the community, their needs and their resolutions—in their individual and collective voices. The co-created texts begin to dismantle the spaces and places in community to bring attention to inequitable power structures.

Consequently, youth become “critical social geographers” (Kenreich, 2010) or individuals capable of critiquing the power structures that have generated negative, one- dimensional narratives about them and the spaces where they live and learn. Whether in her work with high school students in Harlem or with undergraduate students in Detroit,

Kinloch (2009, 2010) and co-researchers emphasize reading, writing, and speaking as

social practices and processes that are embedded in, informed by, and informing neighborhoods and communities. Through the construction of autoethnographies,

Camangian (2010) and his high school students begin to make sense of their day-to-day decisions and identities and name the structures that marginalize them. Students working alongside Duncan-Andrade and Morrell (2008) participating in the Institute for

Democracy, Education and Access (IDEA) engage in an array of participatory action research projects to unpack policies that exacerbate community woes of poverty, unemployment and underfunded education. By “doing school” in these more intentional, reflexive ways, young people are no longer passive consumers, but conscious constructionists who work to positively reimagine their communities and identities.

Critical literacy scholars explore how young people participate in research agendas that demand re-reading and reclaiming spaces/places. The reclamation of spaces requires movement, or engagements within and beyond the classroom through “boundary crossing” (Kinloch, 2009, 2012) or “world traveling” (Lugones, 2003). Through crossings or traveling, young people work alongside teachers and community members to develop new perspectives about power, oppression, identity, and community. Crossing boundaries may require traveling into seemingly familiar neighborhoods to “make the familiar strange” (Fecho, 2005; Kaomea, 2003; Kinloch, 2012; Moss, 1992). For example, when Philip interviewed a White community resident, the exchange challenged his alleged familiarity with White residents who recently moved into Harlem (Kinloch,

2010). He originally believed that the influx of coffee shops, pharmacies, and White people at the Apollo Theater marked the “white-fication of the hood” (Kinloch, 2010, p.92). However, through his interviews with white residents, dialogues with Kinloch,

visits to Columbia University, and video journaling of neighborhood change, he began to reconsider gentrification of the historically Black Harlem as an influx of people from different racial, class, and cultural backgrounds. Through these various boundary crossings, Philip began to complicate his understanding of the differences between

White, as a racial identity marker, and Whiteness, or the sociopolitical privileges and advantages extending from a history of White patriarchy (Kinloch 2010; McIntosh,

1988). In order to develop strategies to reclaim Harlem as a predominately Black and

Latino/a space, Philip and his peers at Harlem High School came to recognize the need for them to develop strategies that would help them reclaim their community space for working-class persons.

In Detroit, students explore the Heidelberg Art Project (Kinloch, 2009) to uncover how one community member used art to reclaim a neighborhood and bring attention to issues of neighborhood abandonment. Through their dialogue and engagements with

Tyree Guyton’s project, students began to write “myriad texts” about the community

(Leander & Sheehy, 2004)—from countering media’s negative portrayals of Detroit neighborhoods to unpacking the narratives embedded in the artwork. The projects arose from Kinloch (2009) encouraging her students to “experience community spaces as public, visual, literary, and civic texts” (p.168). By traveling into “unknown” and

“unfamiliar” spaces, students and educators can begin to rewrite narratives about abandoned neighborhoods while exploring the matrix connecting power, migration, identity, and politics (Kinloch, 2009).

In Camangian’s (2010) research, students continue to interrogate the matrix that connect identity and power. As a result, the classroom transforms into a

counterhegemonic space where youth challenge the ways they have been uncritically inscribed within the pervasive narratives of urban spaces as dangerous, poverty-stricken neighborhood filled with drugs and gang violence. The students’ autoethnographies reveal connections between their “social trauma[s]” (p.182) and issues of “concentrated urban poverty and economic underdevelopment” (p.180) that plague their home spaces, or neighborhoods. Camangian focuses on autoethnographies, rather than autobiographies, because this literary form is a tool for youth to “examine the ways they experience, exist, and explain their identities…and to recognize their racial, cultural, and gendered social relations” (p.183). Youth like Tyrone, who reflected upon his experiences as a “victim of armed robbery” turned “strong-armed robber” (p.191) walk teachers, researchers, youth, and other outsiders through his becoming process— revealing the intricate webs linking together youth, identities, citizenship and consumer capitalism. Tyrone’s autoethnography (among others) highlights how urban youth identities are often constructed and re-constructed by an array of interwoven social, cultural, and political events that media and classrooms fail to address. Camangian’s research asserts that youth-centered spaces can challenge hegemonic discourses only if youth are allowed to excavate, share and critique their stories, and formulate their own connections to one another’s narratives. By constructing these “cultural narratives embedded in critical reflection” (Camangian 2010, p.183), youth use their own voices and experiences to enter the conversation about and with their community. As youth share their autoethnographies, they demand an audience to listen and engage in dialogue.

By engaging in critical research, youth working alongside Duncan-Andrade and

Morrell (2008) demonstrate how shifts from “researched” to “researchers” allow young

people to speak back to depictions of them as passive consumers. Instead, during

University of California-Los Angeles’s summer research seminar, Institute for

Democracy, Education and Access (IDEA), youth served as “intellectuals and collaborators in the process” (p.21) responsible for co-constructing knowledge.

Collectively, youth and adult researchers redefined popular culture to incorporate experiences beyond “films, music CDs, and television shows”; seeking “everyday experiences as they navigate the postindustrial world” (p.111). In order to think and dialogue about how popular culture is created, students worked in groups and were exposed to “social theory, critical pedagogy, the history of urban education, the sociology of education, and methods of critical educational research” (p.111). To demonstrate the serious nature of their research endeavors, the students conducted research and presented reports in community meetings as well as state and national conferences (i.e., American

Educational Research Association, Sociology of Education Association, and the

California Association of Teachers of English). The young people’s research and presentations offer counternarratives about working class African American and Latino/a students, suggesting that “academic achievement is not always a question of skills; many times it is a question of motivation” (p.127)—especially since students produced extensive, high-quality work over five weeks.

Therefore, critical literacy scholars and their co-researchers highlight how youth, community members, and educators’ physical movements often reflect or initiate epistemological shifts in their understandings of power, identity, literacy and social issues. By highlighting how cross-generational collaboration and dialogue relate community change to larger social issues (i.e., racism, globalization, or immigration),

critical literacy scholars challenge the local nature of literacy and learning (Brandt &

Clinton, 2009). Youth, community members, educators, and political officials discuss the local and global effects of gentrification, public policy, educational reform, and additional issues. As a result, critical literacy research is limited to neither classroom nor community settings. Instead, such research takes up Gere’s (2009) challenge to engage in work that “encompasses the communities on both sides of the classroom wall”

(p.1094), which relies upon participants consistently “crossing boundaries” (Kinloch

2011, 2012). Crossings may include high school students traveling to graduate seminars at a local university (Kinloch, 2010, 2011, 2012) or high school students traveling from their various California communities to the Democratic National Convention (Morrell,

2008). Similar crossings also occur at the post-secondary level, when college students travel back and forth between their university classrooms to communities (Calderón &

Cadena, 2007; Kinloch, 2009). As students work with community members and educators within and beyond their local classrooms, literacy (and literacies) can no longer be conceptualized as reading and writing practices only situated within the local.

Crossings continue as students, community members, and educators shift between the roles of learners, teachers, activists, and researchers.

Breaking Barriers and Excavating: Narratives of Youth Activism

Scholar-youth collaborations begin to challenge the ways the social constructs of youth and raise questions about what additional roles might youth play, or what additional identities might they perform within and beyond classrooms. Literacy scholars remind us that young people resist negative depictions through their art, inquiry, and, most importantly, narratives. Youth become storytellers, social geographers, social

researchers, and in some cases activists. Therefore, I return to Afeni’s narrative—her awakening and piqued interest in the Black Panther Party—to begin thinking about

“identity work” (Snow & McAdam, 2000; Hunt & Bedford, 1994), especially within youth activism. She joined the Party after her friend, Sharon, dies as a result of various acts of medical “neglect.” The death of Sharon and her premature-born infant stood as examples of how the medical field continued to unethically underserve African

Americans, especially young African American women. Sharon, who thought she had received a hysterectomy in her younger years, continued engaging in unprotected sex and experimenting with drugs until later in her pregnancy (Guy, 2004, pp.52-53). Afeni’s anger toward prejudice professionals (adults) and disgust with the impounding effects of capitalism and racism led her to partner with other young people in the fight for equity and justice.

Young people continue to carry Afeni’s banner by standing up and speaking back to marginalizing systems. By examining youth literacies, critical literacy scholars explore the multiple practices, events and acts that young people engage as they demand responsible spaces and places to be heard as valuable citizens. In an effort to continue thinking of youth as valid and valuable, this dissertation study turns to sociologists to uncover the ways that young people perform citizenship through civic engagement and activism. Therefore, by intertwining theories and methodologies from sociology, education, and history, I am looking to continue the work of scholars (Ginwright,

Noguera, & Cammarota, 1995; Ginwright, Cammarota, & Noguera, 2009; Kinloch, 2010;

Moje, 2000) who advocate for multifocal interdisciplinary lenses to analyze identities and narratives emerging from youth activism.

Identity work (Snow & Anderson, 1987; Snow & McAdam, 2000) and identity talk (Hunt & Benford, 1994) are central to social movement scholars’ effort to unpack how individuals develop a collective identity and a heightened awareness of inequities and injustices. Snow and Anderson (1987) define identity work as “the range of activities individuals engage in to create, present, and sustain personal identities that are congruent with and supportive of the self concept” (p.1348). Their initial interests in

“work” around personal identity expanded to include how organizations and movements developed a “collective identity”, one that was often informed by a group’s agenda, mission, and goals. Hunt and Benford (1994) explored “identity talk” as a form of

“identity work.” Defined as “a discourse that reflects actors’ perceptions of a social order and is based on interpretations of current situations, themselves, and others”

(p.492), identity talk focuses on the stories people tell to recount their involvement within a movement. In their research on peace and justice movements, Hunt and Benford (1994) identify four major moments, or themes, of activist identity construction: “becoming aware, active, committed, and weary” (p.492). They do not suggest that these moments or identity constructions are linear processes; instead, identity work is complex and multidirectional, as activists’ level and forms of commitments can alter at various points.

Social movement scholars have placed an overwhelming emphasis on adult activism and activist identities; hence, their research often neglects the activism of young people.

Recent scholarship has emerged that focuses on youth activism, especially young people’s involvement in movements and organizations. Since social movement scholars are invested in how individuals become members of a “viable ‘we’”(Glass, 2009, p.524), discussions about youth activism and identity often centralize factors that hindered young

people’s ability to join adult movements. Through her work with young people in

Portland, Oregon and Oakland, California, Gordon (2007, 2008) explores how ageism and gender inequalities are often barriers to youth activism. She attempts to address the silences in sociological literature around “adolescent political activism” that explores

“young people’s conscious and collective responses” to these barriers (Gordon, 2007, p.632). She argues that parental concern, roles within family life, and gender inform levels of participation and commitment among youth. Due to their “greater mobility and familial autonomy relative to girls,” white middle-class boys in the Portland group,

Coalition of Student Activists (CSA) were “able to form alliances with adult social justice groups and access larger social movement networks” (Gordon, 2008, p.50). With their mobility the boys were able to “attend coalition meetings, acquire new organizing skills, form relationships with adult social justice groups, learn about new developments in local city politics, and eventually speak to adult publics as community organizers”

(Gordon, 2008, p.50). In Oakland, she found that the girls of the multiracial organization

United Youth’s (UY) participation “in social movement activities was much more consistent than white, middle-class girls’ participation in Portland community politics”

(p.51). The higher levels of young females’ involvement in community politics can be connected to the presence of youth allies within the organization as well as an emphasis on historical foundations. Through youth-facilitated discussions and activities, young people come to see their contemporary efforts as part of a history of social and political activism.

Emerging literature on youth activism raises concerns about how space, place, race, class, and gender impact youth social and political action. Scholars (Ardizzone,

2007; Ginwright, Noguera, & Cammarota, 2006) focus on youth participation in community politics via organizations and out-of-school activities. Ardizzone (2007) documents the ways that youth in New York City engage in activism. Although she offers excerpts from interviews with young activists, who are also members of various organizations, she offers a limited discussion about what serves as foundations for their social/political actions. Also, aside from being positioned as spaces where young people are subjected to structural and direct violence, schools are rarely discussed as sites of youth activism. Beyond the Civil Rights movement, scholarship in sociology and education rarely positions schools as sites of contemporary activism. For example, in her research with youth in Portland, Gordon (2008, 2009) observes that the school-sanctioned group, CSA, was the only option for activism in the lives of white middle-class female participants. Unfortunately, the young women’s “school-sanctioned activism” is not discussed to the same degree as their male peers’ out-of-school endeavors. However, her work presents opportunities to consider how schools and classrooms can become sites where youth develop interests and projects invested in social justice.

In an effort to envision schools as sites of social and political transformation and civic engagement, this work turns to classrooms to see and hear how activism emerges through a class project. Critical multiculturalism focuses on how educators, researchers, teachers, and students conceptualize, create, and respond to identities through engagements, curricula and pedagogical approaches. In subsequent chapters, I turn to a

Humanities classroom and begin to listen to the students’ narratives as they develop

Social Justice Capstone Projects alongside teachers and community organizations. I am interested in youth “identity work” (Snow & Anderson, 1987; Snow & McAdam, 2000)

within the classroom, specifically the “range of activities [students] engage in to create, present, and sustain personal identities” as activists as they develop their Capstone

Project. Therefore, I rely upon critical methods and methodologies to hear how youth construct, discuss, and understand their “identity work” through what I call youth activist narratives. Through critical narrative inquiry and a thematic analysis, I am able to learn about how the students address local community and global issues through narrative writing.

Chapter 3

“I Want to Be a Part of That”: Methodology for Youth Activist Narratives

Overview of Research

In this chapter, I describe my methodological plan for how students and I take up

Danielle McGuire’s call to “create new stories” of youth activism. In an effort to understand how and why young people to act against injustice—by determining and taking appropriate action to counter injustices— I frame this qualitative study as critical narrative inquiry research with students who develop social justice action research projects (which I refer to as Social Justice Capstones). For approximately nine months during the 2012-2013 academic year, I observed a ninth grade World Humanities classroom located in Poinsette, the capital city of a large Midwestern state. The class was instructed by four teachers who team-teach World History and English Language Arts.

Through weekly interactions with students, I collected data through: field notes of classroom observations, video and audio recordings of student presentations, artifacts from their Social Justice Capstones, and my researcher journal. My process of working with the class of fifty-two students and a group of four focal students, or “activist narrators,” will be further explained later in this chapter. As the “activist narrators” developed their Social Justice Capstones, they also offered reflections on their process through informal conversations and an interview. As I begin to review reflections,

discussions, presentations and artifacts, I conclude this chapter with a discussion of limitations and preliminary findings of this inquiry.

Critical Narrative Inquiry:

Borderland among the Personal, Theoretical & Research

To think about critical narrative inquiry in relation to activism, I turn to a community event held in Poinsette, the large Midwestern city where my research site,

Justice High School, is located. The city’s transportation authority invited professors and members of the Freedom Singers3—Mrs. Rutha Harris, Mr. Charles Dablett, and Ms.

Bettie Mae Fikes—to participate in a program called “Conversations” to celebrate the legacy of Rosa Parks and the bus boycotts throughout the Civil Rights Movement. In commemoration of Rosa Parks’ Day, the day Mrs. Parks was arrested in Montgomery,

Alabama, “Conversations” was composed of a panel discussion (moderated by local news anchorman Jerry Revish), a question and answer session, and performances by the

Freedom Singers. The program was filmed that evening and scheduled to air on local stations over the next few weeks.

I sat in a metal fold-up chair, three rows from the makeshift stage of the television studio. I felt awkward sitting on the third row as it felt like the VIP section for established faculty and staff from the university. In front of me were tenured professors seated next to the Vice Provost and other influential staff members. I was seated with a tenured professor to my left, a black curtain to my right, and a large television camera looming behind my head. The camera, the crowd, and the lighting were all too much for me; and I !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 3 In 1962, Cordell Hull Reagon, Bernice Johnson [Reagon], Rutha Harris, and Charles Neblett founded in The Freedom Singers. The group was originally formed to raise money for the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee. Bettie Mae Fikes joined the Freedom Singers once Bernice Johnson left the group and founded the Harambee Singers (1968-1970) and Sweet Honey in the Rock (1970-2004). 82

began to feel out of place, sensing that I was the only doctoral student in the room. The students who were once gathered in the hallway, and now seated several rows behind me, were undergraduates enrolled in the one of the panelists’ History course.

In the midst of pushing aside the overwhelming nature of this television recording in progress, mulling over my emerging dissertation, and thinking about my general interest in activism, I struggled to “be in the moment.” To “be in this moment,” would require me to place my pen and notepad aside and wait for the program to air on local television station in the weeks to come. Since I did not have cable, catching it on TV would have required a great deal of planning. I also knew I was in the midst of writing my dissertation and this dialogue was all too vital to not document. I was sitting among scholars, community members, college students, and historical activists. The news anchor/panel moderator was correct—we were definitely in a historical moment in time. I applauded, sang songs, and spoke briefly between takes with the professor sitting next to me, but did not stop taking notes.

Ms. Bettie Mae Fikes, a member of the Freedom Singers, looked at the moderator, and then beyond the camera, as she attempted to see members of the audience. Ms. Fikes, an activist who joined the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee at the age of 14, recounted for the audience why she joined the Freedom Singers in Albany, Georgia. In reflecting upon mass meeting held in an Albany church, Ms. Fikes recalls hearing Ms.

Rutha Harris, another member of the legendary quartet, singing “This Little Light of

Mine.” “At that moment,” she recalled with a twinkle in her eye as she looked into the camera, “I said ‘I want to be a part of that.’” Ms. Fikes reflected on how witnessing a friend walk into the church after being beaten on the picket line also fueled her interest in

the freedom movement. “Seeing people brutalized,” she confessed, “made me become committed.”

Shortly after Ms. Fikes shared her vivid memories, the panel moderator turned to

Professor Danielle McGuire, an Assistant Professor of History at Wayne State

University. As author of At the Dark of the Street, a book that positions sexual violence against Black women as a catalyst for the Montgomery bus boycott, McGuire answered a question from the moderator about her interest in Rosa Parks and the Civil Rights

Movement. She spoke about her interest in “ordinary people changing the world.” “We need to create new stories,” she demanded, “Stories that motivate and inspire. A story about Rosa Parks as a tired seamstress limits her commitment to human dignity.”

***

I open this chapter with moments from a community event held in honor of Civil

Rights’ activist, Mrs. Rosa Parks. Panelists included university professors who studied the Civil Rights movement and Freedom Singers who contributed to the movement’s efforts. The audience was composed of college students, community educators, university staff, city officials, and long-time followers of the Freedom Singers. The event, which was called “Conversations,” resembled what I seek to do through my dissertation study: to make spaces available for cross-generational conversations about activism. Through critical narrative inquiry, I turn to the narratives of historical activists

(e.g., Septima Clark, Afeni Shakur, Assata Shakur) and contemporary youth (e.g., students attending Justice High School) to highlight how young people engage in activism. After Ms. Fikes, Mrs. Harris, and Mr. Dablett shared their memories, Dr.

McGuire advocated for more unheard stories—similar to those shared that evening—that

inspire and motivate people to act. “Conversations” taught me important lessons about the significance and challenges of critical narrative inquiry.

Sorting through Lived Experiences: Coming to Critical Narrative Inquiry

To understand how youth become activists, I turn to critical narrative inquiry to examine how young people use narrative writing to engage in social justice work.

Initially, I selected narrative inquiry because I had an emerging interest in what narratives could reveal about how a person’s lived experiences informed their identities, political/social actions and perspectives. The methodology focused on “the genre of story to make meaning from experiences at a particular time, in a particular personal and social context, and in a particular physical space” (Rivera Maulucci, 2010, p.844).

However, narrative inquiry in multicultural education often explored the connection between identities, teaching, and learning, or how student and/or teacher’s lived experiences impacted curriculum design and implementation. Scholars have documented and analyzed teacher narratives to make sense of their pedagogical approaches and curriculum choices (Chan & Boone, 2010; Clandinin & Connelly, 2000;

Raible & Irizarry, 2007; Rivera Maulucci, 2010a, 2010b; Rogers, Marshall, & Tyson,

2006). Narrative inquiry has also been employed to understand make sense of how students, especially students from diverse linguistic, racial/ethnic backgrounds, engage in classroom practices (Phillion & He, 2010; Phillion, He & Connelly, 2005).

Clandinin and Rosiek (2007) assert that criticalists often engage in narrative inquiry in order to responsibly “serve” marginalized and underserved communities. In this dissertation study, I attempted to use narrative inquiry to responsibly serve the girls who were researching human sex trafficking, as well as the individuals who were 85

trafficked. They state, “[t]he need to respond to the structural conditions of oppression is often most acutely felt by narrative inquirers who have previously done service in urban communities or remote rural communities where poverty rates are high and the mal- distribution of wealth and resources is most felt” (Clandinin & Rosiek, 2007, p. 64).

Over the years, I had worked extensively in the predominately African American, working-class communities surrounding Justice High School as a volunteer for community workshops, as well as summer and afterschool programs. I often attended town hall meetings and lectures where community members debated issues of urban renewal, local historical preservation, the criminal justice system, and gun violence among others. Although the events were well attended by community members, young people from the local schools were not in attendance. Clandinin and Rosiek (2007) argue that critical researchers who use narrative inquiry oftentimes have a deep commitment to collaborating with people from marginalized communities. Therefore, this dissertation study extends from my commitment to hearing more young people’s perspectives in community dialogues. According to Clandinin and Rosiek (2007), such researchers

prefer to conduct research with, not on, the people with whom they work. It is

this commitment to listening and collaboration, on the one hand, and an

awareness that large-scale social systems set people up to perpetuate their own

oppression, on the other hand, that can lead a researcher to the borderlands

between narrative inquiry and critical-theoretic scholarship (Clandinin & Rosiek,

2007, p. 64).

After spending months within the World Humanities’ class at Justice High, where students discussed issues of oppression and injustice, I decided that this dissertation study 86

required a methodology that would attend to the critical nature of stories and storytelling.

Although criticalists use narrative inquiry to understand how and why people tell stories and make sense of how identities are constructed, theoretically, narrative inquiry is not a critical methodology (Kincheloe & McLaren, 1994). Therefore, I needed a methodology that would allow me to explore how students addressed power and social justice through the youth activist narratives of their Social Justice Capstone Projects.

Nascent Methodology: Critical Narrative Inquiry and Educational Research

Though informed by narrative inquiry, critical narrative inquiry differs in that intentionally attends to the stories of working class people, women, people of color,

LGBTQ, youth, elders, and similarly marginalized identities to make visible the complexities of inequity. Narrative inquiries (Chan & Boone, 2010; Clandinin &

Connelly, 2000; Phillion, He & Connelly, 2005; Raible & Irizarry, 2007; Rivera

Maulucci, 2010a, 2010b; Rogers, Marshall, & Tyson, 2006) focus on understanding an experience in a specific context of time, place, and space and understanding how stories are shaped by that specific context. However, critical narrative inquiries (Rivera

Maulucci, 2010a, 2010b) focus on spatial-temporal as well as cultural and sociopolitical contexts of stories. Therefore, in addition to being concerned about the political climate and geospatial location, researchers engaged in critical narrative inquiry are interested in how the cultural backgrounds, beliefs, and racial/ethnicity identities of the storyteller and audience impact the stories that are shared. Consequently, I was drawn to critical narrative inquiry, which allowed me to “[draw] on multiple sources of ethnographic data,

[employ] research as a tool for justice, and [use] stories to represent the data, lives, activities, and aspirations of the research” (Rivera Maulucci, 2010, p.844).

In this dissertation study, I use the methodology to understand how four girls from different racial/ethnic backgrounds work together in a World Humanities class to tell a complex story about human sex trafficking. Through critical narrative inquiry, I could begin to listen to their stories and experiences as valid points to understanding youth activism, especially within urban contexts. This methodology, which “usually draw[s] on constructivist or critical epistemologies” (Hollingsworth & Dybdahl, 2007, p.14), also helps me to move away from dominant mainstream narratives about select heroes and heroines who have publicly fought for justice and equity (e.g., Martin Luther King, Jr. and Rosa Parks). Instead, critical narrative inquiry encourages me to listen to lived realities of contemporary youth and place them in conversation with historical realities.

As a relatively new methodology in educational research (first cited in Lander,

1999; Oliver, 1999) that merges critical frameworks (Freire, 1985, 1990; Gramsci;

Giroux, 2004; Shor, 1992) and methodologies (i.e., critical ethnography) with narrative research, critical narrative inquiry places issues of power and identities at the center of research into teaching and learning. Scholars (Lander, 1999; Norton 2005, 2006, 2008;

Oliver, 1999; Rivera Maulucci, 2010a, 2010b) who engage in critical narrative inquiry seek to create more equitable educational spaces (i.e., K-20 classrooms, college campuses, afterschool programs) by listening to the experiences and stories of women, people of color, the working class, LGBTQ communities, individuals from different spiritual and/or religious beliefs, and individuals with additional marginalized identities.

These researchers, who often identify as “multicultural critical feminists” (Norton, 2005,

2006, 2008; Rivera Maulucci, 2010a, 2010b), see storytelling as “a political practice that served to create more equitable societies and educational institutions” (Norton, 2005, 88

p.120). As “multicultural critical feminists”, their inquiries focus on understanding the connection between equity, difference, and diversity (Banks & Banks, 1995, 2010; Grant,

1992; Ladson-Billings, 1994), challenging marginalization (May & Sleeter, 2010;

Giroux, 2004), and seeing the “personal as political” (Collins, 1990; Zinn & Dill, 1996).

Explore, Challenge, and See: Critical Narrative Inquirers’ Agenda

Exploring Equity, Diversity & Difference. Scholars engage in critical narrative inquiry to explore how difference and diversity impacts educational equity. By merging critical ethnography and narrative inquiry, Rivera Maulucci (2010b) developed a critical narrative inquiry to understand the connections between teacher identity and equity. She explored “the resources and strategies three Fifth Grade teachers activated…to resist the marginalization of science in their classrooms” (2010b, p. 843). Through teachers’ narratives, Rivera Maulucci (2010a, 2010b) investigated how teachers’ identities and experiences impacted how they created classrooms that would be accessible to all students, especially those who are linguistically, racial/ethnically diverse. In her

“multicultural feminist critical narrative” inquiries, Norton (2005, 2006, 2008) unpacked how children’s race, culture, class, and spirituality informed multicultural curriculum in early childhood classrooms. Such inquiries highlight “how identities and power manifest themselves within teacher-student relationships and knowledge processes” (Norton, 2005, p.120). Therefore, the methodology becomes a tool used to understand issues of identities and power in a move toward anti-oppressive education.

Challenging Marginalization. Scholars use critical narrative inquiry to document and unpack about how race, class, gender, sexuality, spirituality/religion, and age have been used to create a “matrix of oppression” (Collins, 1990; Zinn & Dill, 1996), which impede on democracy and educational equity. Therefore, the methodology is used to examine the “stories of those who have been marginalized because it attended to the ways culture, structures, and contexts shape stories” (Norton, 2008, p.348). In an effort to understand young people across educational contexts, scholars (Lander, 1999; Norton,

2005, 2006, 2008; Oliver, 1999) challenge marginalization stemming from ageism. As stated previously, narrative research in education (Chan & Boone, 2010; Clandinin &

Connelly, 2000; Raible & Irizarry, 2007; Rogers, Marshall, & Tyson, 2006) focuses heavily on the experiences and identities of teachers, parents, and other adults. However, critical narrative inquiries in education (Lander, 1999; Norton, 2005, 2006, 2008; Oliver,

1999) have provided insight into how young people negotiate their identities within and beyond educational spaces (i.e., schools and classrooms).

Such research pushes teachers, researchers, and policymakers to look beyond high-stakes test scores in an effort to know who students are. For example, Norton

(2005) learned how Pam, a Dominican first-grade girl, navigated “inequitable school incidents” (p.119). In one incident, a teacher reprimanded Pam for refusing to sit on the floor with her classmates. Pam revealed to Oliver that she refused to sit on the floor because she does not want to get her uniform dirty. As a child from a working-class household, she only owned “two [uniform] pants and two [uniform] skirts” and her family could not afford to purchase new clothes. Since the teacher did not engage with

Pam to learn more about who she was, Pam’s decision was misread as defiant and

disrespectful. Therefore, Norton’s critical narrative inquiry highlights how classroom practices that do not account for students’ identities further marginalize students who are from racially/ethnically, linguistically diverse and working class backgrounds.

Seeing the “Personal as Political.” In thinking about identities and how they are enacted, constructed, and negotiated, critical narrative inquirers use the methodology to see the “personal as political.” Although the phrase stems from feminism (Collins, 1990), it is embedded in the work of individuals beyond the feminist movement who challenge the skewed narratives about marginalized peoples. It is in embedded in the writings of activists (Shakur, 1989; Guy, 2004; Perkins, 2000) who document how their lived experiences moved them to demand social justice. It is embedded in the work of historians (Dittmer, 1994; McGuire, 2010; Sartain, 2007) who revisit archives and interviews to create more complex narratives about sociopolitical movements. It is embedded in the writings of critical theorists (Fisher, 2009; Shor & Freire, 1987;

Kinloch, 2010a, 2010b; Cornelius, 1991) who connect the acts of reading and writing to self-liberation. “Personal as political” means to reclaim one’s identity from oppressors

(DuBois, 1903; Douglass; Freire, 1990; Jacobs; Johnson; Shakur, 1989), have the language to name one’s self (Perkins, 2000; Freire, 1985, 1990), and work alongside other marginalized peoples as they reclaim their identities, languages and cultures (Fox,

2009; Kaomea, 2003; McHenry & Heath, 1994).

Therefore, educational researchers who engage in critical narrative inquiry document how marginalized peoples participate in the political processes of reclaiming, self-naming, and helping others. In her work with four adolescent girls (three African

American and one Caucasian), Oliver (1999) explored how they used fashion to

“construct the meanings of their bodies” (p.221). Through their journal writings and discussions of visual images in magazines, the girls identified characteristics, such as

“right”, “normal”, “fashion in” that made a woman an ideal role model. The girls, then, attempted to make sense of how they aligned with their own criteria. As one participant,

Dauntai, noted, Oliver’s inquiry gave her “a chance…to tell an older person how younger people are because some older people don’t understand and they act like they don’t want to take the time to listen to what other younger people are like or what they think”

(Oliver, 1999, pp. 241-242). Therefore, critical narrative inquiry provides the spaces for cross-generational dialogue that allows young people to engage in the political process of naming themselves and making sense of the world around them. In my dissertation study, the four girls and teachers engaged in the act of naming themselves by self-selecting pseudonyms. Collectively, scholars who use critical narrative inquiry (Lander, 1999;

Norton, 2005, 2006, 2008; Oliver, 1999; Rivera Maulucci, 2010a, 2010b) advocate for more research into experiences of students and students of color, which can be used to create culturally responsive and relevant curriculum (Gay, 2000; Ladson-Billings, 1994,

1995) and culturally sustaining (Paris, 2012) spaces (i.e., classrooms and schools) that promote reflection and engagements (Kinloch, 2009, 2010a).

Bridging Critical Narrative Inquiry & Critical Multiculturalism

Since the field and framework of critical multiculturalism are informed by the theories of multicultural education, social justice education, critical theory, and multiracial feminism (see chapter one), it is evident that critical multicultural research should also attend to similar focal points. Therefore, critical narrative inquiry allows critical multicultural researchers to listen to stories of marginalized people in order to

understand difference and diversity, challenge marginalization, and see the “personal as political.” By placing emphasis on the stories of those who have been marginalized, critical narrative inquiry incorporates new voices—students, teachers, community members, people of color, and more—into the conversations about equitable education.

In using critical narrative inquiry to learn how and why four girls participate in social justice work, I look to expand the methodological possibilities in educational research. In listening to the girls working across their racial/ethnic, linguistic, social differences to create their Capstone Project, I use it to understand the connection between equity, difference, and diversity (Banks & Banks, 1995; Ladson-Billings, 1995; Kincheloe &

Steinberg, 1997). By documenting how the girls engage in activism, I use critical narrative inquiry to challenge ageism, sexism and other forms of marginalization that often obstructs youth participation in social justice work (Gordon, 2007, 2008, 2009). As the girls use their bodies (i.e., artwork and photographs) to tell a story about human sex trafficking on a local and global level, I use it to see how they take up the personal as political (Collins, 1990; Zinn & Dill, 1996) through their Capstone Project.

Research Questions

In an effort to understand how youth construct activist identities in schools, I explore two areas of inquiry: narratives and engagement. The following questions guide this research project:

a. How do students create youth activist narratives using social justice experiences?

This question focuses more specifically on the students’ narrative writing

process, such as the ways they co-construct and re-present stories about social

injustices. I am interested in how students engage in activist work through

different parts of the Social Justice Capstone Projects.

b. What do students’ reflections about the narrative writing process reveal about

why they engage in social justice work? The second question is about what

informs students’ social justice practices. I focus on understanding the catalysts

for their participation in their Social Justice Projects.

Contexts of Inquiry

Places to Dwell: Justice High, Poinsette, and the Corridor

In order to unpack the connections among activist identity, engagement, narratives, and curriculum, I enter into a World Humanities classroom at Justice High.

Focused on excellence and collaborative learning, Justice High has received state, national and international recognition and numerous awards since it opened in the late

1980s. The fifty-acre campus is located minutes away from a historically African

American community—the Corridor—undergoing urban renewal. Justice High, like its neighboring community, continues to face expansion, development, and change. During the 2003-2004 school year, Justice High had a student population of 570, which was

62.0% African American, 34.1% White, and 2.5% Asian American or Pacific Islander.

The percentage of American Indian or Native Alaskan, Multiracial, and Hispanic were not calculated because less than 10 students in the group attended Justice (Department of

Education, 2003-2004 School Year Report Card). By the 2012-2013 school year, 670 students attended Justice High School. There were also changes in the student body’s racial/ethnic demographic: 80.3% of the students were Black (non-Hispanic), 3.0%

Hispanic, 13.0% White (non-Hispanic), and 2.2% identified as Multiracial. The 94

percentages for Asian/Pacific Islander and American Indian/Alaskan Native were not calculated because there were fewer than 10 in the group. As a lottery school, Justice

High School’s students often came from different neighborhoods across the school district. Since seventy percent of the students are considered “economically disadvantaged,” Justice High is considered a “medium-high poverty school.”4 I realize that reported demographics only account for a small part of the story about Justice High and its students.

Conversations and Opportunities: Access

Of Justice High’s 200-plus ninth grade students, fifty-two were enrolled in the

World Humanities course I observed. I learned about the course after numerous conversations with one of the teachers, Mr. Logan. In 2009, Mr. Logan and I were enrolled in a graduate-level course that focused on learning in a social context.

Throughout our doctoral program, Mr. Logan and I enrolled in the same courses, especially those that focused on literacy, identity, and multicultural education. He often spoke about his students, the topics he taught, and the changes he saw. He also spoke highly of the community members living in the Corridor whom he knew, admired, and closely with worked. I often shared my experiences of working, and attending classes and events in the Corridor, and the changes I saw that ran parallel to those in my Southern rural hometown. When Mr. Logan and I chatted, I tried to remember faces of the community members I knew, or names of those who I saw at events in the Corridor.

Over the years, we realized we shared similar interests in neighborhood histories and !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 4 According to the state’s Department of Education, “High-poverty schools are those ranked in the top quartile based on the percentage of economically disadvantaged students. Low-poverty schools are those ranked in the bottom quartile based on the percentage of economically disadvantaged students.” (Department of Education, School Report Card, 2003-2004). 95

activism. We were, and are, similarly concerned about the urban renewal efforts unfolding in the Corridor neighborhood. Our overlapping spheres and dialogues resulted in open invitations to his World Humanities class. The first time I met Mr. Logan’s students was at an end-of-the-year event, which was held on the University’s campus in

Spring 2012, where the students presented their Social Justice Capstone Projects. The room was filled with artistic representations of their research about, and advocacy against, domestic violence, human trafficking, animal abuse, bullying, and gentrification among other topics. As I walked the room and spoke with the rising sophomores, I experienced an array of emotions—overwhelmed by the students’ knowledge, amazed by their sophisticated presentations, and saddened by my own busyness. I had missed an opportunity to watch students become activists during that academic year. At that moment, I decided that I would regularly visit Mr. Logan’s class during the next academic year (2012-2013).

Entering World Humanities: The Social Justice Capstone Projects

In September 2012, I sat in the back of the World Humanities classroom, watching students fidget around in their brown metal fold-up chairs as four teachers move around the room in different directions. One of the teachers, Mrs. Munroe, navigates the aisle between tables as two teachers, Mr. Logan and Mrs. Prince, distribute marigold sheets of paper to students. A student passes one of those papers to me. It is information about their Social Justice Capstone Projects (see Appendix B). I am elated to know that I am here from the beginning.

The Social Justice Capstone Projects came to life because of the school district’s call for a new curriculum and the relationship between the teachers and administrators at

Justice High School. The new curriculum called for a focus on social justice issues and interdisciplinary work at the ninth grade level. According to the Poinsette School

District’s Social Studies Course Description, students in World Humanities will:

examine world history from 1750-present combined with English 9 in a humanities approach. The humanities approach has students explore literature, history, art, music, and drama of cultures. The course incorporates each of the seven standards of the [state’s] Academic Content Standards for Social Studies and each of the nine standards of the [state’s] Academic Content Standards for English Language Arts. As students study historic eras, they consider the influence of geographic settings, cultural perspectives, economic systems, social patterns, and various forms of government. Students develop a deeper understanding of the historic and contemporary interactions of an increasingly interdependent world and demonstrate command of social studies and English skills and methods, including research (Social Studies Course Descriptions, p.23).

At Justice High, the World Humanities class meets five days a week for 80 minutes and is instructed by four teachers: an English/Language Arts teacher, Social Studies teacher, and two intervention specialists. Although the course focuses on world history from 1600 to the present, it is interdisciplinary as students are expected to “demonstrate command of social studies and English skills and methods, including research” (Social Studies Course

Descriptions, p.23). Therefore, the teachers worked closely with school’s administrators over the years to move the Humanities students beyond the traditional research paper and toward innovative ways to engage in and present research. The end result was a yearlong research project called, “Establish. Explore. Explain. Empower: Social Justice Capstone

Project.”

After Mr. Logan (the Social Studies teacher) and Mrs. Prince (an Intervention

Specialist with an Art Education background) applied for and received a small grant to develop service-learning initiatives in their classroom in 2012 and 2013, they brainstormed with Ms. Munroe (the English teacher) how to incorporate community

engagement into the Capstones. In September 2012, the students received a marigold sheet of paper entitled, “Establish. Explore. Explain. Empower” which provided directions for the four major components of the Capstone (Appendix B). Each component aligned with a nine-week grading period. For the first grading period,

“Establish”, students worked in self-selected groups to discuss topics of interest and determine group members’ responsibilities. During this time, the students consulted with teachers to determine if their topics, such as divorce, bullying, neighborhood violence, were social justice issues. If the topic was not considered to be a social justice issue, the teachers continued to dialogue with students about their interests and offered suggestions for underresearched issues. For the second grading period, “Explore,” students had to contact community organizations or members who are working to address their selected injustice. For example, the group of four girls who are central to my dissertation research volunteered at food pantry and spoke with individuals who are fighting to end human sex trafficking. Students had to create a poster, Prezi, or PowerPoint documenting what they have learned and present it to their classmates for the for “Explain” component (third grading period). For the final grading period, the students had to create an artistic representation of their social justice issue that would “Empower” the audience to take action. Therefore, the development and presentation of the students’, specifically a group of four girls, Social Justice Capstones over the course of an academic year are central to my dissertation research.

Parents were required to sign a consent form granting me permission to use their child’s writings, conversations, and/or photographs in data collection to inform my study.

Students were required to sign an assent form acknowledging that they wanted to

participate in the research. Students who were not granted parental permission or chose not to participate were not included in my findings and were not interviewed. From

September 2012 to December 2012, I observed class activities, attended field trips, sat in class meetings, shadowed teachers and interacted with students in an attempt to become a familiar face in the school. From December 2012 to May 2013, I focus specifically upon the narrative writing processes of four students. Class and focus group observations were documented in my researcher journal over the course of the entire dissertation study

(September 2012 to May 2013).

Selecting Narrators & The Reality of Positionality

In a class of fifty-two students, I initially selected three students who decided to read Melba Patillo Beals’ (1994) Warriors Don’t Cry for their independent non-fiction reading assignment (Appendix A). Since Beals was one of the nine African American students who integrated Central High School in Little Rock, Arkansas, I wanted to see how Beals’ activist narrative might inform their emerging Social Justice Projects.

Unfortunately, the students did not remain with their reading groups; they aligned more or less with friends or classmates with whom they felt more comfortable. As a result, groups were composed of individuals who read different non-fiction texts. As the students discussed and began to solidify their group topics, I often listened in on decision-making conversations. I learned from Mr. Logan that the “neighborhood pride” group would document local history by interviewing community members living in the

Corridor, the African American neighborhood near Justice that was undergoing urban renewal. With an interest in cross-generational dialogue and community history told by

community members, I selected three students who chose “neighborhood pride” as the topic of their Social Justice Capstone.

Three days prior to meeting with the students to talk about why they selected

“neighborhood pride,” I asked Mrs. Munroe, the English teacher for the World

Humanities class, for a copy of the list she created with the students’ names organized into Social Justice Capstone groups. Although I had been observing the class for almost two months, I knew little about the students in the class. The following excerpt from my research field notes recounts my uncertainty I felt about my selection process as I reviewed the names on the Social Justice Capstone list.

As I looked at the names listed under “neighborhood pride,” I realized I only

knew one student, and that was due to our limited exchanges that she often

initiated. Since she sat at a table in the back of the classroom, she could quickly

observe and interact with anyone as they entered and navigated the classroom

(the classroom door was located at the back of the classroom). As I sat scribbling

notes (it was during my first few days), she commented on my neckring that I wore

to class that day. “I like your earrings,” she leaned over and whispered, leaned

upright then went back to taking notes.

Unfortunately, I had to flip through my field notes’ journal to the diagram of the

class to locate the other two girls’ names. If I could picture where they sat in

class, I might be able to remember something about them: clothes, comments,

physical appearance, hairstyles, or maybe accessories. I found the page with the

diagram I created the first day I visited (when nametags for their “assigned

seats” were still taped to the table tops)—located their names…and nothing. One

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student sat near the front of the class and the other student sat between Bob and

Lacquasha. That told me absolutely nothing about who they were, whether or not

they were approachable, or even interested in talking to me. I could not even

remember if I made eye contact with them when I introduced myself to the class a

few weeks prior. Where do I go from here? How I do build a relationship with

students I couldn’t even pick out of a crowd of 52 other students? (Researcher

Journal, 12/7/12)

In thinking about how to build relationships with students, I turn once again to how I position myself, especially after interacting with students as a co- narrator/researcher working with young people. I use the term co-narrator to mark myself as someone writing narratives alongside the students. As they are writing about their social justice issue, I am documenting their narrative writing process in order to write about how they are emerging as youth activists. After winter break, I returned to my schedule of weekly class visits, but with a different perspective of how I would engage with students in the classroom. Instead of sitting alone in the back of the classroom with my notebook and audio recorder, I would walk around the classroom ask students if I could listen in on their conversations. It was in these spaces of group discussions that I realized my position as an outsider, an older person, and a researcher.

On one occasion, when I heard the girls in the “neighborhood pride” group laughing and chatting, I took it as a sign that the girls were personable students who were having fun as they bounced around ideas about their project. This scene quickly changed when I approached the group and asked to join the conversation. The laughter stopped and smiles dissipated into pursed lips and smirks. One of the girls appeared to bring the

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group back on task, by asking questions like: What are we supposed to do? What are going to do with this project? As the three girls sat in silence, flipped through pages and exchanged glances, I honored the uneasiness of their silence and left the group. A similar instance happened when I approached the same group of girls working in the computer lab on a different assignment for the Social Justice Capstone. Their conversation ended and each one turned to their computer screen or smartphone when I approached their row of computers. Instances like these made me highly aware of my positionality as a researcher.

Where am I? Understanding Positionality

Positionality refers to my social, cultural, and political location as researcher, which is somewhere between self-perception, social-historical constructions, and participants’ perceptions of who I am. As discussed by Jacobs-Huey (2002), Lather

(2006), Niesz (2006), and Tuhiwai Smith (1999), it is a combination of researcher identities and subjectivities. Niesz (2006) uses the term “‘subjectivity’…to further highlight the social and historical (as opposed to psychological [identity]) construction of the self through lived experiences” (p.337). Based on Niesz’s discussion, my subjectivity as a young African American woman from the rural South stems from social constructions of young African American women through popular culture (i.e., movies, television, news media, music) and historical events (i.e., American Slavery). Although

Lather (2006) agrees that positionality is connected to subjectivity, or “historical inscription” and “power regimes” (p.44), she pushes me to consider how positionality is about also about self-definition.

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In building upon Niesz’s (2006) distinction between identity and subjectivity, my identities, or how I enact my “young-African-American-Southern-womanness”, stem from my own psychological endeavors. Since how I construct my identities (i.e., young

African American woman, Geechee girl, daughter, sister, aunt, first-generation college student, etc.) are informed by social-historical constructions and (mis)representations of

Black womanhood (Collins, 1999), I assert that my subjectivities and identities are interdependent elements of who am I as a researcher, or my positionality. In other words, positionality is about “who I think I am” (identities), “how I have been constructed socially and historically” (subjectivities), and how these self-perceptions and social constructions influence how participants perceive and interact with me. In the context of my dissertation research, students’ perceptions of me (i.e., a researcher from the

University, an adult who hangs out in the Humanities class) often overrode my own self- perceptions (a young African American female doctoral candidate who was invited by their teacher to hang out in the Humanities class). Therefore, positionality is about

“multiplicity”, “situated selves”, and “contested meanings” (Lather, 2006, p.44). As a result, one group denied me access to their conversations, while another group (the four focal girls) allowed me to listen, watch, and document them as they created their

Capstone Project.

Although I was a 28-year-old African American female doctoral student, I found it relatively easy to work with young people, especially high school students. For the past six years, I have dialogued with young African American girls in an afterschool program and served as summer program instructor for high school students. In those spaces, I felt comfortable talking about the music on my playlists, pictures on my

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Facebook profile, past relationships, books I read, and my love-hate relationship with reality TV shows. However, when I entered Justice High at the beginning of the school year and climbed the three flights of stairs to the classroom, students made me readily aware that I was not quite part of the Justice High school community:

I arrived early and stood around in the back of the classroom. A young lady

approached me and said “I like your outfit,” which was a grey maxi dress, black

belt, and burgundy shrug, with a pair of grey-black-burgundy paisley print

sandals. As students began filing into the classroom, I heard whispers. “Who’s

that?” “I think she’s a substitute?” “…new student?” The same student who

commented on my outfit earlier had made her way to her seat and finally

admitted—“oh I thought you were a student, then I saw your cup.” Dang! For

some reason, I felt like my cover was blown—and all because of my travel mug I

got from volunteering at the local library. I continue to ask myself about this

“cover” that I was trying to maintain. (Researcher Journal, 9/12)

The “cover” I was trying to maintain was that of a high school student, a possible peer, and an insider, and with the right combination of clothing and accessories, I could have, in fact, maintained this cover. However, what I was trying to cover up—my status as a doctoral student/researcher—was revealed because my travel mug suggested that I was “a teacher”, an authority figure, a visiting adult, and an outsider. I am hesitant to use

“insider-outsider” in thinking about who I am as a co-narrator/researcher in Justice High

School because as Jacobs-Huey (2002) warns the “insider-outsider” binary is insufficient in capturing complexities of positionality.

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In considering the reality of positionality concerns, as experienced by literacy scholars (Cushman, 1998; Moss, 1992), multiracial feminists (Collins, 1990; Dillard,

2000; Moraga & Anzaldúa, 1983) and Indigenous scholars (Brayboy, 2005; Dei, 2000;

Kaomea, 2000, 2003, 2006; Smith, 1999), I attempt to work against the “insider-outsider” binary (Jacobs-Huey, 2002) in Justice High. The binary does not account for the constant cycle of establishing trustworthiness, negotiating access, and forging relationships with research participants that is required for ethical research. Scholars who engage in research in communities that are like their own must work toward descriptors that account for “the negotiation of identity and legitimacy that is necessary of all anthropologists, including those working within their own cultural communities” (Jacobs-

Huey, 2002, p.792). Therefore, in their commitment to socially responsible research projects, researchers must consistently engage in “self-reflexivity, dialogue, and reciprocity” (Cushman, 1998, p.30) as they work alongside community members or within communities where they are members. In this dissertation study, I am aware that my positionality is consistently in flux, as I am never fully insider or outsider.

As an African American woman who initially selected a group of African

American girls (the “neighborhood pride” group), I recognize that students could consider me to be someone who shares similar interests and experiences based on race and gender. However, their unwillingness to engage with me and continue candid conversations in my presence made it clear that we were from different generations, geographical locations, educational experiences, and, quite frankly, different worlds. As

Nelson (1996) notes, “Although the native and the researcher look alike, speak the same language, and share many of the same beliefs and customs, the researcher still

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approaches the natives to observe them…The ease of access and the quality of rapport are constantly negotiated as the researcher and informant construct their identities in this intrinsically hierarchical relationship” (p.194, emphasis added, qtd. in Jacobs-Huey,

2002, p.795). I became readily aware of this power dynamic, and although I wanted to align myself with the students, I often found myself taking cues from the teachers.

Initially, I asked the teachers for permission to ask students for assignments or join students’ small group discussions during class. Since I was not a teacher, I felt that students had no obligation to me, no obligation to sign and return research forms, and no obligation to share their graded assignments with me. What was I sharing in return?

As an emerging scholar dedicated to social justice for working-class, linguistically, racially/ethnically, and culturally diverse communities that have been historically underserved by and misrepresented in social research, I continue to grapple with my social, theoretical, epistemological, and ontological positions. Within the social contexts of the school (and even within this project), I struggle with the label of

“researcher” because it often evoked images of unethical scientific experiments conducted on brown and Black bodies (Skloot, 2010; Washington, 2006). Take the following entry from my researcher field notes:

That fear became a reality the day I explained who I was and why I was sitting in

on their class. After distributing and explaining Institutional Review Board forms

to the class, a student in the back of the classroom said, “I feel like we are lab

rats and you are conducting experiments on us to see what makes us tick.” I was

mortified. Mr. Logan chimed in and explained that this project was about

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improving education and that they [the students] could all help us become better

teachers. (Researcher Journal, 10/25/12)

I agreed with Mr. Logan. Instead of generating “lab rat”-researcher relationships,

I wanted students to understand that I was learning with them about how we (students and me) become activists. Therefore, I shared stories in hopes of being seen as a “co-narrator” who wrote and told stories alongside young people, rather than as a researcher who only published their lived experiences as warrants for theoretical claims in academic journals

(Smith, 1999; Tierney, 2002). Once again, I use the term co-narrator to mark myself as someone writing narratives alongside the girls. However, I was only able to write stories about their Capstone Projects and share stories about my research when I was invited by students to do so. After numerous conversations with the Humanities’ teachers about my failed attempts to engage the “neighborhood pride” group whom I had initially selected, I decided that I had to select another group of students—a group who were excited about their topic and more willing to talk with me about it.

RSVP: Invitation and Dialogic Selection

As I attempted to redefine the criteria for participants, I tried to remain visible to students and staff at Justice High. I often followed Mr. Logan back to his classroom, where I stayed for third-period study hall, his fourth-period Globalization class, and/or fifth period lunch. One day, I walked into Mr. Logan’s classroom, during study hall, as students conducted an interview with him about their reading and writing practices. After the session concluded, the young ladies revealed that were glad that someone wanted to listen to what they had to say. One of the young ladies turned to me and asked, “you sure you don’t want to interview us for your research?”

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Although I was not prepared to conduct an interview, I was prepared to talk. I got caught up in their excitement and laughter and we somehow started talking about their love of Bath & Body Works’ products. (I saw numerous bottles of lotions and body sprays displayed on tabletops as I sat in their classes.) The conversation shifted from talk about products to talk of schooling, as I began to describe my experiences as a student in a school similar to Justice High. I noted that my high school in South Carolina was comprised of students who matriculated there from various communities in the school district. As I described my high school and shared other similar stories with them, I felt some of the nervousness and tensions being alleviated. It was in that moment that I began to understand Paris’ (2010) notion of humanizing research or what Kinloch & San

Pedro (2013) call “Projects in Humanization.” According to Kinloch and San Pedro

(2013), Projects in Humanization are engagements that are grounded in the “theoretical consideration of listening (Bakhtin, 1981a, 1981b; Bartolome, 1994; Schultz, 2009) as a framework to tell, re-tell, and re-present stories in non-linear ways” (p.22). Getting to know the students required me to be less graduate student-researcher-“Ms. Butler” who was concerned with gathering data and more human, “Tamara”, who was deeply concerned with listening. In talking with the girls, I realized “Projects in Humanization” are about allowing for spaces in research that promote “ethics and trust in relationship building, and shifting roles of researcher as learner, listener, advocate, and participant”

(Kinloch & San Pedro, 2013, p.22) Therefore, developing trust and relationships across research requires the researcher to be vulnerable with participants and to be comfortable with being off-task, which may include talking about lotion, relationships, music and other aspects of life that may not be part of the research script.

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“Being vulnerable” also provides openings in this critical narrative inquiry, where

I no longer had to maintain a “cover” or search for a new group of focal students. The dynamics and direction of my research changed after a study hall conversation with Tay, a 14-year-old Nigerian female student in the Humanities class, which I capture in the following excerpt from my researcher journal:

Yesterday, I accepted Tay’s invitation to chat during 3rd period—“I thought you

were coming to talk to me” (I was actually stealing a chair in order to sit in the

back of the class to refresh my notes and attempt to update my journal). I am glad

she decided to talk with me about her artistic replication of the city where the

character [from The Arrival by Shaun Tan] “immigrated to.” Since the graphic

novel is wordless, she walked me through the plot—pointing out changes in the

colors and scenes (especially when characters are having a flashback). We talked

about her understandings of the images and changes in colors and textures. I

slowly began to understand the importance of invitation…students and teachers

inviting researchers to engage with them and their projects (Researcher Journal,

1/17/13)

In looking back at the entry from my researcher journal, I recognize that as a preoccupied researcher—concerned with jotting and cleaning up notes—I almost missed a valuable moment for dialogue and learning. Since I missed the class when the students first read The Arrival, I listened as she shared insights from and taught me about the book. This invitation and interaction restarted my research project and pointed to the concept of “dialogic selection” in which participants choose to work with the researcher and vice versa (Paris 2011). As a member of the group exploring human sex trafficking

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for their Social Justice Capstone, Tay became my unsolicited liaison to the group. Once invited to the group, the girls would ask me questions about my research, greet me when we passed one another at school, or ask for assistance with class assignments. They also negotiated times to talk with me during the school day about their Capstone Project.

During a study hall period in May, I met with Josefina, Catalia, and Chika in a room adjacent to Mrs. Prince’s classroom for our group reflection interview. As we waited on the fourth group member, Tay, to make her way across campus, the girls noticed my small flip camera on a tripod propped on the table across from them. “Are you going to record us Ms. Butler?” “Who’s going to see this?” They begin fixing their hair and smoothing out their clothes. Josefina attempted to pull her long copper colored braids into a bun. Chika leaned over to help. Catalia did little to prep herself, except sit up taller in her chair. I rolled my eyes and shook my head, smiling all the while. Only

Catalia noticed and laughed at me.

When asked to introduce themselves to the camera, the girls all offered similar introductions: name, age (15 years old), class status (“freshman at Justice High School”); they also mentioned what they liked to do outside school. Their brief introductions did not quite capture their eclectic personalities that I had observed throughout the school year.

When I first met Catalia, a soft-spoken Hispanic girl, I found comfort in her bright eyes and small stature. In the interview introduction, she nonchalantly shared, “I don’t do sports so that’s not my thing” (Group Reflection Interview, 5/23/13). I learned that she played the violin and worked afterschool. I could only imagine her experiences as a petite waitress (she was no more than five feet tall) in a local restaurant. Throughout the

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school year, I noticed that she did not speak much in class; however, when given the space during group meeting (as Chika often dominated the conversations) she provided insightful, and often clever, remarks. In the interview, she jokingly suggested sneaking into the casino recently built on the outskirts of the city—like an undercover news reporter to learn about the role casinos play in human trafficking. From the widening of her large bright brown eyes to the silent smirk during the interview, her facial expressions revealed her emotions even when she tried to conceal them.

Chika, a Mexican-American girl who wore large dark frame glasses and pink lipstick, shared that she loved to dance and play volleyball. She was also an unapologetic perfectionist. At the end of the interview, she was distraught by the possibility of receiving a “B” in Humanities—resulting in two B’s on her report card. For the first three grading periods, Chika was on the Super Honor Roll (3.9 GPA or higher). She declared, and Josefina confirmed, that she never received B’s before attending Justice

High. By contacting community organizations and designing graphic organizers for the group’s Capstone, Chika often asserted herself as the leader. Unfortunately, during in- class group work and out-of-class conversations with me, her team members often voiced their displeasure with her dominating personality.

Standing about 5’6”, Josefina was a playful young woman who used humor to diffuse hostile debates or escalating disagreements between group members. The 15- year-old African American female danced and played numerous sports. I did not see

Josefina much outside of the Humanities class, but learned about her interest in fashion and modeling through sidebar group conversations. I believe her interest in fashion is what drew her Tay. 111

Tay, who was unable to leave art class for the interview session, was an emerging fashion designer and entrepreneur. On a rainy morning, during third period, I was writing field notes in my journal when she walked into Mr. Logan’s room with an umbrella. Remembering that she did not have an umbrella during first period, I asked about the one she was carrying. She shared that she “bought it from a girl who was selling umbrellas.” “For how much?” I asked. “Five dollars,” she replied as she looked out of the classroom window. I was shocked and impressed by entrepreneurial spirit of

Justice High students. “I’m just kidding,” she confessed. “I borrowed this from a friend.

But that would be a good idea to sell umbrellas.” Tay was a 15-year-old Nigerian female, who was pensive and fearlessly inquisitive—characteristics that sparked our initial study hall conversation and informed our future interactions. For example, during a post- community service conversation, I consistently asked the girls questions—stemming from a combination of my genuine curiosity and unresolved discomfort with car silence.

My line of questions somehow led the girls to talk about books they liked to read.

Someone mentioned 50 Shades of Gray, a recent bestseller that focused on the

“sexcapades” of a White female character. After admitting that she would not read something like that, Tay asked, “What do you like to read Ms. Butler?” I was caught off- guard. I did not think the girls were trying to include me in the conversation. I told them that I have a newfound love of reading autobiographies, especially of activists. I mentioned that I read Assata and shared that I spend most of my time at Half-Price Books looking for cheap books. The word “cheap” moved the conversation into a discussion about thrift shopping, as Chika talked about her sister’s love of rummaging through the aisles of various thrift stores and Tay expressed how the experience was often

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overwhelming and how she preferred to make clothes. However, over the next few months, I learned that students were equally as interested in me as I was in them and their

Social Justice Capstone Projects. Therefore, we came to learn more about one another through the stories we shared.

Sharing the Story: Researcher Response-ability and Responsibility

Throughout the process, colleagues and mentors often encouraged me to talk with students and share my own ideas and stories about activism. However, I found that we were sharing stories about issues beyond the Social Justice Capstone—such as my life as graduate student, their post-high school dreams, our shared love of shopping, their struggles with group members, and whatever else was on their minds. Our sharing was a form of “response-ability” (Oliver, 2003) in which I listened and engaged as the students directed the conversations we had. I did not provoke students into having conversations for the sake of gathering data, but instead for building relationships. By sharing stories,

“the ease of access and the quality of rapport are constantly negotiated” (Nelson 1996, p.194). Through stories, I began to “negotiate” my roles within the classroom and with students. I saw students as young people with aspirations and concerns about a world that existed far beyond Justice High. To them, I was seen as Ms. Butler, a researcher, a classroom helper, a graduate student, and occasionally as Mrs. Munroe’s sister (students often commented that we looked like twins). Each day was an opportunity to learn about myself through the eyes of young students.

In conjunction with storytelling, Jacobs-Huey (2002) encourages researchers to develop new or adjust current research methods in order to promote respect, reciprocity and ethics. Such shifts speak to researcher responsibility, as we are charged to challenge

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the evasive nature of research, especially with youth of color. Some examples include:

“abandoning academic jargon…and various research methods that might be alienating and intrusive to participants…such as the use of I.Q. tests…tape recorders…written surveys... and specific sampling techniques” (Jacobs-Huey, 2002, p.792). Therefore, in thinking about engaging in “humanizing” research with youth, I consistently assessed the methods I utilized to conduct this dissertation research. I considered how traditional methods (i.e., audio/video recordings, observations, digital photographs, etc.), when conceptualized through a critical lens, allowed me to responsibly work with young people and contribute to our understanding of how youth activists engage in narrative writing for social justice.

Data Collection: Pieces of the Narrative Writing Process

“The struggle, of course, is to develop ‘passionate scholarship’ (DuBois, 1983) which can lead us toward a self-reflexive research paradigm…” (Lather, 1986, p.267)

As a researcher whose critical narrative inquiry is informed by critical multiculturalism, I developed a research design that was emergent (Green & Stinson,

1999; Phillion, He, & Connelly, 2005), collaborative (Denzin, Lincoln, & Smith, 2008), and responsible (Appleman, 2003; Cushman, 1999; Denzin, Lincoln, & Smith, 2008) to the lives of the four girls, the community members they interviewed, and the teachers who welcomed me into their classroom. I wanted us to produce “passionate scholarship” that “rejects inequality, the oppression of disenfranchised groups, the silencing of marginalized voices, and authoritarian social structures” (Green & Stinson, 1999,p. 105).

Critical, feminist, and indigenous scholars and scholars of color (Smith, 1999; Subedi,

2007; Tyson, 1998) assert that “researchers’ ways of being and knowing influence how 114

they develop methodologies and methods of research” (Subedi, 2007, p.55). Therefore, this critical narrative inquiry and the methods I employed are informed by a critical multicultural epistemology where knowledge is co-constructed through dialogue and ethical engagements with communities.

The research design was emergent because I altered the research methods and methodology throughout the course of the study in an effort to capture the complexities of the Social Justice Capstone Projects. Emergent design is when a research develops questions, methods and a methodological approach to understand some phenomena or experience occurring at the site (Green & Stinson, 1999). When I initially entered the

World Humanities class, I was interested in how the students would come to address urban renewal and the social justice issue of gentrification. After spending several weeks in the class and at Justice High, I noticed that the Humanities teachers often made adjustments to the Social Justice Capstone timeline and their classroom instruction (i.e., what they were going to teach, which activities they were going to facilitate in class, etc.). Therefore, the emergent design was informed by fluid nature of Humanities class and Social Justice Capstone Project.

By asking the Humanities teachers, focal narrators, and my colleagues for input on research methods, I sought to develop a research design that was collaborative and generated co-constructed knowledge (Banks, 1989/2010, 1996) about youth activism.

Since this inquiry involved individuals from marginalized populations (young girls of color), I relied on research methods (i.e., group discussions, audio/video recordings of presentations, journaling, observations) informed by and “in search of an open-ended, subversive, multivoiced epistemology” (Denzin, Lincoln, & Smith, 2008, p.5). Through

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after-class conversations with teachers, either during lunch, planning periods or via email,

I determined which parts of the Social Justice Capstone Projects might provide insight into how students engage in activist work. Therefore, observations, written reflections, and recorded presentations allowed me to hear the girls, their teachers, and community members as they shaped emerging understandings of youth activism.

The research design is responsible in that I gained permission from teachers, parents, the girls, and their classmates to observe their Capstone Projects and re-present their tensions and learnings in this dissertation, at conferences, and with future teachers.

Denzin, Lincoln & Smith (2008) assert that research with Indigenous peoples should be

“pedagogical, political, moral, and ethical, involving the enhancement of moral agency, the production of moral discernment, a commitment to praxis, justice, an ethic of resistance, and a performative pedagogy that resists oppression” (p.14). I argue research with additional marginalized populations (i.e., youth, women, people of color, etc.) should be designed and implemented same level of commitment to “praxis”, “justice”,

“moral discernment” and “an ethic of resistance.” Although I received their assent forms,

I asked the girls for their permission to record their conversations, take pictures of their artwork, join their discussions, and discuss their Capstones at conferences.

Consequently, this emergent, collaborative, and responsible dissertation study relies upon multiple methods, which include: collecting student artifacts, conducting a group interview, maintaining field notes from participant observations (within and beyond the classroom), and a researcher journal. I divided my data collection into three major phases (see Table 1) informed by stages of the Social Justice Capstones. Some of the stages of the Social Capstone Project extend across data collection phases.

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Phases of Social Justice Capstone Projects & Dissertation Research

Phase one (September 2012 to December 2012) of data collection correlates with the first two stages of the Capstone Projects: “Establish” and “Explore.” For “Establish”, which occurred during the first grading period (September-October 2012), students selected groups and wrote a research proposal about how they would learn more about their social justice issue. For the second grading period (November-December 2012), students began to “Explore”, or conduct Internet research about their social justice topic.

During phase one, I collected class documents, maintained a researcher journal, and audio recorded class discussions in an effort to answer my first research question, How do students create youth activist narratives using social justice experiences? Since I was struggling to work with the girls in the “neighborhood pride” group, I turned my attention to how students might incorporate language or themes from the Humanities class into their Capstone Projects.

However, Tay, Chika, Catalia, and Josefina, the four girls who are central to this dissertation study, selected me during phase two (January to March 2013). During this data collection phase, I focused on activities and class assignments associated with the

“Explore” (October 2012 to January 2013), “Explain” (January to March 2013), and

“Empower” (March to May 2013) stages of the Capstone Projects. The students continued researching their topic (“Explore”), contacted and/or visited community organizations that connected to their topic (“Explore”), and presented to their classmates what they learned (“Explain”). As the students began to shape the information into an artistic representation of their social justice issue (“Empower”), I focused on my first research question: How do students create youth activist narratives using social justice

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experiences? While I was interested in what the girls were doing for their Capstone, I was also interested in what the students were learning and doing in the Humanities class.

Therefore, I maintained a researcher journal, field notes in the form of a mock notebook, digital photographs of most students’ artifacts, and audio/video recordings of student presentations and class discussions.

In the third and final phase (April to May 2013), I collected data from the

“Empower” stage that would address both research questions: How do students create youth activist narratives using social justice experiences? What do students’ reflections about the narrative writing process reveal about why they engage in social justice work?

During this phase, students developed and presented “Social Justice/Revolutionary

Music” projects, began and completed their Social Justice art piece, and presented final art piece in May at “Art in Action” night. Therefore, to understand how and why the girls engaged in social justice work through their Capstone Projects, I audio and video recorded their class presentations and group planning and designing sessions. I also conducted a group reflection interview, maintained a researcher journal, and digitally collected student artifacts (i.e., photographs of artwork, scanning pamphlets and in-class assignments, etc.). Throughout the academic year, I recorded all of the students’ in-class presentations, acquired digital versions of their PowerPoints and Prezis, and photographed their art pieces and assignments. However, for this dissertation study, I transcribed audio and video and analyzed data from the four girls researching human sex trafficking for their Social Justice Capstone Project.

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“Co-narrator”-Researcher Journal and Fieldnotes

From September 2012 to May 2013, I recorded in-class participant observations, post-observation notes, and/or reflections and emerging questions in my “co-narrator”- researcher journal. I refer to myself as a “co-narrator”-researcher because as a critical narrative inquirer, I am interested in writing about (and alongside) four girls as they write about the injustices of human sex trafficking. During phase one of data collection

(September 2012 to December 2012), my notes included emerging questions, reflections related to class activities/discussions, student presentations and informal discussions with students and teachers. I was interested in what happened in the classroom, often noting which students answered questions, wanted to participate in class discussions (but were not called on), or sat silently. During the remaining two phases (January to March 2013 and April to May 2013), my notes focused on classroom activities, field trips, and community events where students were present. In a small spiral journal, I recorded field notes during focus groups and interactions between students and community members, especially when a community member/student did not want to be recorded. The same small spiral journal contained nine months of field notes from class visits, each visit lasting 80 minutes and occurring at least 3 days per week. For phases two (January to

March 2013) and three (April to May 2013), I created and maintained a “mock” notebook that resembled students’ notebooks, where I took notes of in-class activities, glued handouts and wrote the day’s discussion questions.

Audio & Video Recordings: Student Presentations

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Critical and indigenous scholars (Jacobs-Huey, 2002; Subedi 2007) assert that audio recording participants at any point in the research can be an evasive research method, especially if done without the participants’ permission. While I recognize how audio recording presented an issue of ethics, I discussed with the narrators why I wanted to audio (or video) record group conversations and presentations. The recordings were an attempt to capture “orality” of the narratives and narrative-writing process. Therefore, I video and/or audio recorded the focal group’s two class presentations, three in-class planning sessions, an afterschool planning session, a focus group reflection discussion, and two “Art in Action night” presentations. Maxwell (1996) asserts that “rich” data

“generally requires verbatim transcripts of the interviews, not just notes on what you felt was significant” (p.110). In my commitment to youth activist narratives emerging as

“rich” experiences, and not just data, I transcribed the audio and/or video recordings. For my analysis, I compared the transcriptions to my reflection journal, field notes, documents in my mock notebook, and student artifacts (i.e., PowerPoint slides, photographs).

Digital Student Artifacts

Student artifacts included any written and/or audiovisual texts produced by students within the context of the course, especially documents related to the Social

Justice Capstones. In an effort to understand how students make text-to-self connections,

I read the focal narrators’ reading response journals for their non-fiction texts. As an introduction to social justice issues, students self-selected a non-fiction text from a list of over twenty books compiled by the Humanities teachers (see Appendix A). During the first grading period, all students created a double-entry journal, which included selected

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passages from the book and their interpretation of how the passage connected to social justice. A second journal of interest was the Social Justice “documentation journal.” One student in each group was responsible for keeping field notes about their project, including information about community organizations, their emergent learning, and project progress. Rather than keeping a documentation journal, Chika, one of the students in the focal group, kept project-related papers (handouts, flyers, notes, etc.) in a folder. I often photographed the documents when she presented them to her group members.

In addition to students’ writings, I received digital versions of each group’s

PowerPoint or Prezi presentations that they created for the Social Justice Capstones.

However, in this dissertation study, I focused solely on the two PowerPoint presentations created by the four girls (focal narrators). The girls also provided me with photographs, interview/discussion recordings, and any additional artifacts that connected to their Social

Justice Capstones. These artifacts were central to an end-of-the-year focus group reflection interview as I attempted to make sense of how the girls understood their roles in countering the social injustice of human sex trafficking.

Focus Groups

In their research with youth, Dentith, Measor, and O’Malley (2009) turned to peer research and advisory groups in order to collect and analysis data. They assert that these two methods “offered a way of ‘doing’ research that did not reproduce familiar relations of power and ways of listening that made young people central to the process of formulating the research problems, implementing the process, and interpreting the findings” (Dentith, Measor, & O’Malley, 2009, p.164). Therefore, the girls and I

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engaged in an end-of-the-year focus group discussion to reflect on classroom and community experiences related to the Social Justice Capstone Project. As the girls began to work more closely with community members, the discussion was a space to share with me what they learned about themselves as students and emerging activists. They received permission from their teachers to participate in 30-minute focus group conversation, which occurred during the sixth period of day.

Thematic Analysis in Theory: Aims and Alignment

Although data analysis was an ongoing process throughout the research, I completed data analysis by writing this dissertation, a year after the World Humanities class ended. I adapted Braun and Clarke’s (2006) six-phase model for thematic analysis

(See Table 2). I selected thematic analysis because it closely aligns with the aims of critical narrative inquiry. Critical narrative inquiry “[draws] on multiple sources of ethnographic data, [employs] research as a tool for justice, and [uses] stories to represent the data, lives, activities, and aspirations of the research” (Rivera Maulucci, 2010, p.844).

In order to make sense of the students’ narrative writing process and their narratives, I use thematic analysis to critically examine data from various points in the dissertation study and the girls’ Capstone project. Also, an outcome of thematic analysis is “the identification of a story, which the researcher tells about the data in relation to the research question or questions” (Vaismoradi, Turunen, & Bondas, 2013, p. 403), which aligns with the methodological aims.

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Using thematic analysis in psychology 87

TableTable 1 Phases 2. Braun of thematic and analysisClarke (2006) Six Phases of Thematic Analysis (p.87)

Phase Description of the process

1. Familiarizing yourself Transcribing data (if necessary), reading and re-reading the data, noting down with your data: initial ideas. 2. Generating initial codes: Coding interesting features of the data in a systematic fashion across the entire data set, collating data relevant to each code. 3. Searching for themes: Collating codes into potential themes, gathering all data relevant to each potential theme. 4. Reviewing themes: Checking if the themes work in relation to the coded extracts (Level 1) and the entire data set (Level 2), generating a thematic ‘map’ of the analysis. 5. Defining and naming Ongoing analysis to refine the specifics of each theme, and the overall story the themes: analysis tells, generating clear definitions and names for each theme. 6. Producing the report: The final opportunity for analysis. Selection of vivid, compelling extract examples, final analysis of selected extracts, relating back of the analysis to the research question and literature, producing a scholarly report of the analysis.

that develops over time (Ely et al., 1997), research will become apparent Á/ the read- andResearchers should not bein rushed.nursing, psychology, anding other and re-readingfields have of used data isthematic time-consum- analysis ing. It is, therefore, tempting to skip over to understandPhase 1: familiarizingthemes across yourself life stori withes, your specificallythis phase, the narrative or be selective.components We (Sparker, would data strongly advise against this, as this phase When you engage in analysis, you may have provides the bedrock for the rest of the 2005;collected Vaismoradi, the data Turunen, yourself, & or Bondas, they may have2013).analysis. Thematic analysis “involves the search been given to you. If you collected them During this phase, it is a good idea to start for andthrough identification interactive of means, common you willthreads come that to extendtaking notesacross or an marking entire [set ideas of fordata]” coding and is the analysis with some prior knowledge of that you will then go back to in subsequent the data, and possibly some initial analytic phases. Once you have done this, you are used tointerests “find out or thoughts. about the Regardless, actual behavior, it is vital attitudes,ready toor begin,real motives the more of the formal people coding being that you immerse yourself in the data to the process. In essence, coding continues to be studied,extent or to that detect you arewhat familiar has happened” with the depth (Vaismoradi,developed Turunen, and defined & Bondas, throughout 2013, the p. en- 400). and breadth of the content. Immersion tire analysis. Therefore,usually in involvesthe following ‘repeated chapter, reading’ I analyze of the data related to four “restory-ing” points, or data, and reading the data in an active way Á/ Transcription of verbal data searching for meanings, patterns and so on. If you are working with verbal data, such as pointsIt of is idealanalysis, to read (see through table the3) in entire the datagirls’ set projectinterviews, to “detect television what programmeshas happened” or poli- at least once before you begin your coding, tical speeches, the data will need to be (Vaismoradi,as ideas andTurunen, identification & Bondas, of possible 2013, pat-p.400)transcribed as they created into written their Social form inJustice order to terns will be shaped as you read through. conduct a thematic analysis. The process of Whether or not you are aiming for an transcription, while it may seen time-con- Capstone.overall Although or detailed I recount analysis, this are process searching in asuming, linear fashion, frustrating, data and analysis at times boring,was ongoing can for latent or semantic themes, or are data- or be an excellent way to start familiarizing and oftetheoretically-drivenn required me to will reenter inform the howcycle the as I consistentlyyourself with reviewed the data data (Riessman, and redefined 1993). reading proceeds. Regardless, it is impor- Further, some researchers even argue tant to be familiar with all aspects of your it should be seen as ‘a key phase of themes.data. At this phase, one of the reasons why data analysis within interpretative qualita- qualitative research tends to use far smaller tive methodology’ (Bird, 2005: 227), and samples than,Table for example,3. Four Points questionnaire of Analysisrecognized (“Restory as an-inginterpretative Points”) act, where Restory-ing Point Artifacts Analyzed “Explain” PowerPoint . “Explain” PowerPoint slides Presentation (3/27-3/28) . Transcript from video recording of class presentation and Q&A session (3/27) Social Justice Music . Transcript from video recording of planning Presentation discussion (4/11) (4/15-4/16) . Transcript from audio recording of Social Justice Music presentation (4/15) (Continued) 124

Table 3 (continued)

Group Reflection Interview . Transcript from audio recording of group (5/23) reflection interview (5/23) “Art in Action” night (5/23) . Transcript from audio recording of in-class painting session . Video recording of afterschool painting & creating session . Transcripts from video recordings of “Art in Action” night presentations (5/23) . Student-generated pamphlets for “Stories Behind Their Hands” (5/23)

Thematic Analysis in Practice

In order to become “familiar” with the data (phase one), I listened to audio and watched video recordings of the girls across the span of the Social Justice Capstone

Project (March 2013-May 2013). After reviewing the recordings, I selected two conversations (Social Justice Music discussion and an in-class planning conversation), a group reflection interview, and four presentations (“Explain” PowerPoint, the Social

Justice Music, and two “Art in Action” night presentations) to transcribe. After transcribing, I audited, or engaged in a close reading of, the transcripts while listening to the audio and/or video recordings (Tuckett, 2005). Auditing is “important for gaining a

‘close contact and familiarity...’ with the data and, therefore, overall trustworthiness”

(Boyatzis, 1998 p. 45). The auditing process was also an opportunity for me to organize the data into respective restory-ing points.

Restoryi-ng Points

The concept of restory-ing builds upon Kinloch and San Pedro’s (2013) meaning- making process of “story-ing” and Clandinin and Connelly’s (2000) analytical tool of

“restorying.” According to Kinloch and San Pedro, “story-ing” is a “place…where the

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convergence of theory and method, and theory and practice, intersect to push us to listen to the questions we raise and vignettes we offer as we move toward Projects in

Humanization” (p.22). In building upon their definition, I am interested in how students create spaces to “re-story,” or collaboratively listen to, deconstruct, and use texts (i.e., images, data, their personal experiences, and the experiences of others) to promote social justice. I intentionally use the prefix “re” to think about the “analyze and use again” nature of the students’ work. In order to understand how students analyzed information from Internet research and interviews with community members and used again, I engage in “restorying” (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000), or ordering and making sense out of disjointed stories. Therefore, I selected data related to the girls’ three Social Justice

Capstone presentations and a reflection interview to analyze, or “restory.”

The first restory-ing point was the “Explain” Powerpoint that students presented to the Humanities class (March 2013). For this point, I reviewed the girls’ PowerPoint slides alonside the transcript from their presentation. The second restory-ing point was the “Revolutionary Music” assignment (April 2013), which required each group to select a song that best depicts their social justice issue. I analyzed the transcript from the girls’ planning session, as well as the PowerPoint slides and transcripts from the in-class presentation. The third restory-ing point was a group reflection interview I conducted with three of the four group members hours before the “Art in Action” night. The fourth and final restory-ing point was the “Art in Action” night (May 2013), where groups discussed and displayed pamphlets about their art pieces. For this point, I focused on the transcripts from the girls’ description of their art piece and the contents of the group’s pamphlet.

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I engaged in open coding of the transcripts and the PowerPoint presentation slides. During the initial coding, I searched for correlations and discrepancies between

PowerPoint slides and the corresponding sections of the transcripts. During the next few rounds of coding, I identified what the students were doing in each presentation or how they were telling a story. Therefore, I developed codes such as “reappropriating”,

“repurposing,” or “re-interpreting.” To account for emic perspectives, or perspectives of participants (Maxwell, 2005), I reviewed my coded data as I listened again to recordings of the group’s reflection interview and three presentations. This comparing process was a form of member checking as I wanted to ensure that there was some alignment between what I thought (my analysis) the students were doing and what students said (recordings and transcripts) they were doing.

I organized the codes into themes using a series of thematic maps (phases 2-4 of thematic analysis). The thematic maps, which connected pieces of data to codes and potential themes, allowed me to visually engage in the process of “restory-ing”, or merging theory, method, and data to make sense of disjointed stories. Clandinin and

Connelly (2000) assert that “restorying,” or ordering and making sense out of disjointed stories, serves as a form of analysis. In an attempt to balance etic and emic perspectives of youth activist narratives, I invited peer narrators to engage in the analysis, or “restory- ing,” process.

Peer narrators were colleagues who were distant from my dissertation research, but have known me for a majority of my doctoral program. Therefore, peer narrators included childhood friends, graduate school colleagues, and individuals from a mentoring program for doctoral candidates. Peer narrators also became peer consultants as I would

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provide them with narratives emerging from the dissertation study. Through quarterly debriefing sessions (via phone, Skype or in-person), we discussed questions they had about the narratives I presented, the narrators, or my initial findings. Similarly, I provided drafts of emerging narratives to mentors who agreed to serve as scholar consultants for this study. Information from peer and scholar consultants generated topics for the focus group reflection.

By exploring the narrative(s) the girls co-constructed about social injustice of human sex trafficking and searching for themes across the “life story” of their narrative writing process, I engaged in a unique use of both critical narrative inquiry and thematic analysis. Critical narrative inquiry places students’ or teachers’ lived experiences at the center of research. However, in this dissertation study, I use critical narrative inquiry to explore engagement. I am interested in how four girls make meaning and raise awareness through engaging with individuals affected by human sex trafficking.

Similarly, I use thematic analysis to unpack how the girls created youth activist narratives about the social injustice, rather than using the analytic tool to unpack the girls’ life stories. Since the importance of a theme depends on “whether it captures something important in relation to the overall research question” (Vaismoradi, Turunen,

& Bondas, 2013, pp.402-403), the emerging themes that I identify and discuss captured how and why the students’ engaged in the narrative writing process around human sex trafficking.

Themes

On the final thematic map, I identified bearing witness, reciprocal engagement, challenging invisibility, and constructing windows and mirrors as the four major themes

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that emerged from the restory-ing points. The theme of “bearing witness” builds upon

Oliver’s (2001) definition of witnessing as “testifying to both something you have seen with your own eyes and something that you cannot see” (p. 86). Therefore, most of the data associated with this theme relate to instances where students have read or heard about human sex trafficking, since they have not seen trafficking in action. However, they are bearing witness by drawing upon different events to take a stand against trafficking.

The theme of reciprocal engagement connects to bearing witness because it focuses on the decision-making process or how the girls will share what they have learned. Most of the data associated with this theme reflect how the girls selected and meshed research with dialogue for the Social Justice Capstone Project. Reciprocal engagement is also about the girls’ ethical decision-making and representation of the stories, ensuring that they are not exploiting the survivors or negating the community members who made stories available to them for their project.

The third theme, challenging invisibility, speaks to the ways the girls make the issue of human sex trafficking visible and, at times, hypervisible. As an issue that the girls noticed was rarely discussed in their communities, human sex trafficking was depicted as a large-scale injustice that impacts people locally and globally. Therefore, I focused on restory-ing points where the girls intentionally develop pieces of their

Capstone Project to capture the attention of their audience.

The fourth theme, constructing mirrors and windows, connects to challenging invisibility in that students create their Capstone Project as a large-scale invitation to participate. Across the restory-ing points, the girls create mirrors for the audience to see

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themselves and where they could possibly be positioned in human sex trafficking as a victim, perpetrator, or activist. The girls create windows by inviting the audience to explore complex and sometimes conflicting stories about the social injustice of human sex trafficking. For example, the girls create a large-scale art piece that serves as both a window and a mirror into the social injustice. The art piece is a window because it allows the audience to see into the exploitation, deception, and violence of human sex trafficking. As a mirror, the art piece contains hands that represent different racial/ethnic and gendered identities, including that of the viewer.

Whether the human sex trafficking group was raising the consciousness of their classmates by bearing witness, challenging invisibility, constructing windows and mirrors, or participating in reciprocal engagements, all of the themes spoke back to the notion of critical consciousness (Freire, 1970). Critical consciousness is defined as the ability “to perceive social, political, and economic contradictions” (Freire, 1995/1970, p.12). However, I argue that the girls did not just develop the ability to “perceive” contradictions, but were also engaged in addressing those contradictions. By actively venturing into the community and intentionally designing their Capstone Project, the girls were working toward embodied consciousness. Therefore, the more students engaged in the process of creating their Social Justice Capstone, the more involved they became in the community and the more time and creativity they invested in the Project. In the following chapter, I document how the girls moved toward embodied consciousness through their youth activist narratives about human sex trafficking.

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Is it really real? Trustworthiness and Limitations

By employing critical narrative inquiry and thematic analysis, I work alongside youth to challenge some of the power differentials that are inherent in positivist educational research. Through peer narration, this dissertation research becomes a project of collaboration and multivocality, rather than an evasive investigation with stories told only by the researcher. In working with youth and their peers, I look to move away from the presence of an omniscient researcher, whose analysis muddles participants’ voices. The positivist paradigm relies heavily upon the criteria of “validity, reliability, and generalizability” (Connelly & Clandinin, 1990, p.7). Therefore, I turn to critical, feminist and narrative researchers (Kincheloe & McLaren, 1994; Lather, 1991;

Connelly & Clandinin, 1990) who center marginalized peoples’ ways of knowing in transformative and responsible inquiry. In place of validity, Lincoln and Guba (1985) advocate for “trustworthiness” in qualitative research, which explores the richness of data and dialogic nature of research. Kincheloe and McLaren (1994) offers “credibility,”

“anticipatory accommodation,” and “catalytic validity” (Lather 1991) as criteria for trustworthiness in critical qualitative research. In critical narrative inquiry, the criteria for

“validating” or “trusting” narrators and their shared experience become more nuanced.

Therefore, I turn to Connelly and Clandinin (1990) who assert that narratives, narrative inquiry, and narrative analysis must be “invitational,” in that they must adhere to the shifting rules of “narrativity” (Baroni, 2009). Invitational narratives are stories that are tellable, plausible and possess a level of connectedness for narrators and readers. I developed thematic maps for data triangulation and auditing for member checking in

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order to ensure “validity” and the “invitational” nature of the girls’ narratives and my narratives about their activism.

Tellability: Checking the Stories We Share

According to Baroni (2009), “tellability” refers to narrator’s decisions about what stories to tell and how to tell the stories. By engaging with the focal narrators inside and outside the classroom, the girls and I determined which stories to share. Narrators (e.g., students, teachers, community members, and me) who contributed their lived experiences to this dissertation research negotiated the “trustworthiness” of the stories, especially those that are “restoried” in subsequent chapters. Through formal and informal group discussions about my emerging interpretations of their Capstone Project, the girls were able to reflect upon and help me revise my analysis. For the focal narrators to be able to recant statements and discuss conclusions, the girls and I engaged in what Lincoln (1993) calls isomorphism, or allowing the marginalized people to determine what is true. In critical narrative inquiry, youth challenge the power dynamics of qualitative research by speaking for themselves and negotiating how they are represented in the final research.

She asserts that, “[in] new texts from the silent, it is the silent who will determine whether or not texts concerning their lives are valid or faithful to the stories” (Lincoln,

1993, p.37). Therefore, I relied heavily upon member checks in determining codes, conclusions, and the final write-up of this dissertation study.

Adequacy and Plausibility: Accessing the Stories We Share

Connelly and Clandinin (1990) advocate for “adequacy” and “plausibility” in determining the “trustworthiness” of narratives. These criteria look to making narratives public as “a plausible account is one that tends to ring true” (Connelly & Clandinin,

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1990, p.8) or one that can be recognized by the reader. Through peer and scholar consultations, I shared transcripts, journal entries, and the emerging narratives I was writing about the girls’ Capstone Project in an effort to create stories that were plausible to the peer and scholar consultants. In discussing compiled transcripts and journal entries, peer consultants and I asked questions about the “restoried” narratives that I was writing about the girls and their Capstone: Were there discrepancies between the narrator in the data and the narrator in the restoried narratives? What would you (reader) need to know about the restoried narrator to make the story “real” to you? Through these informal conversations, peer and scholar consultants were “invited to participate” (Connelly &

Clandinin, 1990, p.8) in the conversation between students and me.

“Crisis”: Access, Risk, and Representation

As I write about “youth activist narratives,” I recognize that the process of making personal narratives public is emotional, risky, and untimely (Appleman, 2003).

Oftentimes, researchers lament over issues of access to research site, withdrawal of participants, and other barriers to sustained engagement. While I recognize physical access as a real concern, I am equally concerned about accessible stories. Did we

(students, community members, and me) have enough time to get to know and trust one another? In thinking about trust, I reflect upon a story that I wrestled with sharing.

During a conversation with a colleague about this dissertation study, she asked about the experiences that brought me to my own passions for youth activism and narratives. I told story after story about my master’s thesis, my interest in community-classroom partnerships, and about my mother and her aspirations of having a business that will attend to community needs. Finally, I said something about heirs’ property and my

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grandmother. She is the reason I do this work. I do this because I want to save her from her worrying about whether or not some resort developer will come in and purchase her land in the middle of the night. I want to find ways for more young people to get involved and carry the baton that former generations have passed on to us. As tears began to well up in my eyes, I admitted that I couldn’t lose her to her own worries.

I was not hesitant to share the story because I feared crying in front of students who I was still getting to know; I thought I would deter them. I also recognized that there were consequences in me not sharing, even though I was never prompted by the students to share the story about my grandmother. In thinking about “untold stories” (Ochs &

Capps, 2001) and the “dark side of tellability” (Norrick, 2000), I realize that this dissertation research is also limited by stories that cannot be told. The girls exploring human sex trafficking encountered similar limitations as such stories are too painful to tell or cannot be remembered “due to a selective memory that filters experience…amnesia or trauma” (Baroni, 2009, p.452). These lived experiences that shape our passions and inform our identities may not be listed in the public narratives that we create.

As a graduate student working alongside high school students and as an adult working with youth, my second concern rallied around risk. I often reflect upon the levels of risk that are involved in such work. According to Clandinin and Rosiek (2007), critical “narrative inquirers choose to take their risks with people and the stories they live and tell” (p.57). As I walked with students from class to the cafeteria, I often thought:

What am I risking? What are students risking by working with and sharing stories with me? A limitation of this inquiry was my inability to account for risks that young people 134

took when they offered their assent to participate. When I distributed assent and parental permission forms, I assured them that there are no risks in participating, which was confirmed by both forms. While I may see this project as an effort to transform classroom and community engagement, students and parents/guardians have different perspectives.

By speaking with students and parents/guardians, especially during community events or parent-teacher conferences, I listened to their hesitations about this project as I talked about the concept of “activist narratives” and as I tried to foster relationships. In the end,

I wanted to assure them that this work is about collective learning with their children who are “full and legitimate collaborators with social scientists, educational researchers, and the policy community” (Lincoln, 1993, p.42).

The final concern, or crisis, is that the girls and I recount lived experiences of living people. The narratives that the girls and I tell here are never finished. When the

“written document appears to stand still, the narrative appears to stand still” (Connelly &

Clandinin, 1990, p.9). Though this dissertation study is written, the narrators are still processing beyond the interviews, the presentations, the photographs, and these pages. As a result, the public narrative writing process documented here is a snippet of ongoing meaning making. As I turn attention to the “youth activist narratives” in the next chapter,

I take Atkinson’s (2007) reminder with me: The stories that are here “may not be the whole truth. We can be sure, though, that what we are getting is the story they want to tell us. That in itself tells us much about what we really want to know” (p.24).

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Chapter 4

“React to Our like Revolution”: Youth Activist Narratives

What’s Their Role? Reframing Bystanders

The following slide was projected onto the white board in the front of the class.

Figure 1. PowerPoint Slide from Reverend Niemöller Warm-Up (April 18, 2013)

Mr. Logan read the slide aloud. He then asked the students to take a couple minutes to respond to the following questions:

Warm-Up

• Write an interpretation of the quote (what does Rev. Niemöller mean).

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• What was the role of “bystanders” in Germany?

• Are they partly responsible for what happened during the Holocaust?If more

people had resisted, could the Holocaust have been prevented?

Students shared their interpretations of Reverend Niemöller’s quote, with one student saying that the quote meant, “stand up for others or no one will stand up for you.”

Another student said, “Treat others the way you want to be treated.” Then, Mr. Logan proceeded to the next question, “What was the role of ‘bystanders’ in Germany?” A student quietly suggested that bystanders were targeted. Mr. Logan agreed, but continued to direct students back to the question, “What’s their role? What’s their role? We already said that a bystander is someone that sees something happen and doesn’t speak out or take action. So what’s their role?” Kori, a student in the class responded, “Um I would say they’re silent, but the Nazi party are the –”, to which Mr. Logan questioned,

“But their silence seems like they’d be what?” The following exchange among students and Mr. Logan ensued:

Kori: perpetrators [Mr. Logan: right] they’d be like America [Mr. Logan:

Explain] They’re trying to not be in it but—

Mr. Logan: So they’re trying to be isolated, but their isolation is really supporting

who?

Students: The Nazi Party

Mr. Logan: So that’s the idea. So the bystanders for Nazis are not taking action,

are they partly responsible?

Students: Yes.

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Mr. Logan: Why? Valentino [a student in the class who was shaking his head]

says no, but other people say “yes.” I want to know, if yes, why? Not just “yes.”

I want to know “why?”

Bassie: Yes, because if bystanders—they just do nothing and if more people are

involved, that means they can be helped. If there’s no action to stop a cause of

something bad, then no one will really think to stop it because there’s going to be

no other opinions

Mr. Logan: Right. So people support them if they do nothing.

Z: I said “no” and that’s because if the bystanders actually helped the victims,

then they would also become victims and that’s more killing and more deaths.

Mr. Logan: There you go. Is that what you were going to say? So that it was hard

for bystanders to speak out in the system the Nazis had created because of the fear

and violence. I can agree with that (Reverend Niemöller Warm-Up, 27-49).

The opening vignette was from a warm-up activity in April 2013 when students unpacked the concept of victims, bystanders, and perpetrators in relation to the

Holocaust. Prior to the discussion, the students read documents that Mr. Logan received from The Holocaust Museum about the different groups of people who were victims of the 20th century genocide. As they read the documents, students completed and discussed their responses to questions in the chart—recreated below—prior to the opening discussion.

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Table 4. Victims of the Holocaust Victims Who were What happened to Why were they they? them? persecuted? Roma/Sinti People of Persecuted & put into For being different Indian descent concentration camps Homosexuals People who Spent time in prisons & For being different: like people of concentration camps German gov’t saw the same sex “homosexuality as immoral”—threaten Aryan race b/c they often did not have children Jehovah’s Missionaries Some were For being different: Witnesses from America killed/persecuted—if Refused to swear they signed a form loyalty to Hitler & face renouncing their faith gov’t (no allegiance to then they were “set earthly nations) free” from camps Poles Roman Kidnapped & put into For being different: Catholics from labor camps Spoke different Poland; Spoke language & practiced Polish different religions; Nazis wanted land back from Poles Handicapped People who (They were For being different: were stereotyped) seen as a burden to physically/men Euthanized or sterilized society; resources could tally disabled be used a healthy Born w/ a citizens; did not want disability (war ‘defects’ to contaminate veterans not the “pure Aryan race” included)

In the final column, “Why were they persecuted?”, students provided an array of reasons, which Mr. Logan wrote on the board. He also consistently asked students what was the overarching reason behind persecution during the Holocaust. Collectively, the students concluded that individuals were persecuted “for being different” (Reverend Niemöller

Warm-Up). Throughout the discussion, students grappled with the pros and cons of

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being a bystander—especially in the context of the Holocaust. Their debate highlighted their belief that there is no such thing as a bystander. By refusing to take action against an injustice, not only do individuals run the risk of becoming a victim, but also their

“silence” is read as compliance to the perpetrators’ violence (Mr. Logan & Kori,

Reverend Niemöller Warm-Up, 33-38).

The discussion was wedged into a vital point of the Social Justice Capstone

Project—three weeks after the “Explain” PowerPoint presentation, two days after the

Revolutionary/Social Justice Music presentation, and one month before the “Art in

Action” night (see Figure 2). In developing their Social Justice Capstone Projects, the students began to shift from a focus on bystanders to advocates. By deciding to take different types of action, which included conducting research, developing presentations, and creating “empowerment” art pieces, students challenged the neutral ground of bystander in a variety of ways. One such way was by focusing on the topic of human sex trafficking. This chapter, then, analyzes how one group researched human sex trafficking as a social injustice in order to intentionally complicate their understanding of victims, perpetrators, and difference.

Overview of Chapter

In this chapter, I analyze four points of data (restory-ing points) from the Social

Justice Capstone Project where four girls articulate their understanding of social justice to make sense of the interstitial spaces of youth activism, social justice, and narratives.

Throughout the chapter, I use the social justice work and activism interchangeably because I see the two as synonymous. Activism, or a commitment to unmasking inequities, challenging injustice, and dismantling oppression is social justice work. Using

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critical narrative inquiry to engage in the thematic analysis of “restory-ing points”, helps me to answer my research questions:

(1) How do students create youth activist narratives using social justice

experiences?

(2) What do students’ reflections about the narrative writing process reveal about

why they engage in social justice work?

For each restory-ing point, I discuss how students engaged in the act of restory- ing to create what I am calling youth activist narratives, or political-personal stories about injustice, inequality, and inequities that co-constructed and made public by young people to incite social change. In their work on humanizing research, Kinloch and San Pedro

(2013) position “story-ing” as “a place…where the convergence of theory and method, and theory and practice, intersect to push us to listen to the questions we raise and vignettes we offer as we move toward Projects in Humanization” (p.22). In building upon their definition, I am interested in how students create spaces to “re-story,” or collaboratively listen to, deconstruct and use texts (i.e., images, data, their personal experiences, and the experiences of others) to promote social justice. Therefore, I focus on the visual (e.g., images of hands, photographs, size of artwork) and/or rhetorical (e.g., creating ambiguity, using popular culture to depict an injustice) techniques that students used in their efforts to educate different audiences and raise awareness about human sex trafficking. This chapter serves as an opportunity to both unpack and analyze each story the students presented.

The first restory-ing point is the Explain Powerpoint that students presented to the

Humanities class (March 2013). I argue that students reappropriate visuals from the 141

Internet and information gathered from interviews to make sense of human sex trafficking. By incorpating personal photographs and information gathered from community organizations in their presentation, the girls’ demonstrate a heighthened level of empathy toward individuals who are trafficked.

In April 2013, students completed the “Revolutionary/Social Justice Music” assignment, which required each group to select a song that best depicts their social justice issue. Therefore, this second restory-ing point focuses on the students’ decision- making process and class presentation for the music project. I focus on students’ intentionality to repurpose the “perfect song” that reflects their multifaceted understanding of sex trafficking.

The third restory-ing point is from the final “Art in Action” night (May 2013).

For the event, each group displayed their “empowerment” art pieces and created pamphlets to provide additional information about their issue and artwork. I focus on the girls’ presentations from this event because they provide a clear example of “re-storying” for human sex trafficking awareness. Collectively, the visual piece and oral presentations illustrate how the girls collaboratively listened to, deconstructed, and then used texts to create their social justice art piece.

Before closing the chapter, I turn to the group reflection interview (May 2013), where students begin to project themselves into the future and grapple with their emerging activist stance. In this interview, students make the cogs and bolts of youth social justice work visible as they sort through their experiences in the community and in the Humanities class to discuss accessible activist practices. The chapter concludes with an overview of the lessons learned from the girls’ narrative and narrative writing process.

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Throughout the chapter, I discuss four themes that emerged from their Social Justice

Capstone Project: bearing witness, reciprocal engagement, challenging invisibility, and constructing windows and mirrors. I assert that these four themes connect to the overarching theme, embodied consciousness, which represents a heightened level of responsibility and empathy and that informs how young people respond to injustice. As the chapter concludes, I begin to think about how youth activist narratives can help educators, community members, and other adults come to see youth as civic actors, which I discuss more in chapter five.

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REPLACE with

TIMELINE

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“Well, it’s hard to monitor, right?”

Troubling the Public Narrative(s) of Human Sex Trafficking

The four girls hesitantly flanked the whiteboard, where the first slide of their

PowerPoint presentation was projected. Mr. Logan, the Social Studies teacher, is seated in the far left corner of the room with his laptop, which is connected to the LCD projector hanging from the ceiling in the center of the classroom. He is in charge of advancing through the PowerPoint presentation. Over the next 6-7 minutes, the four girls talked the class through the 14 slides of graphs, bright-colored fonts, and images about human sex trafficking. Earlier in the year, when I heard what other groups were researching, I often felt like the issue of Human Sex Trafficking was the most risky. Even though topics such as domestic violence and domestic sexual violence are just as risky as students might begin to talk about rape, molestation, and other forms of violation.

The girls reported what they deemed to be the facts about human sex trafficking and they did not veer off into graphic reports of abduction and assault as one might expect to hear. The following is an overview of the narrative the girls co-authored and shared through their “Explain” PowerPoint presentation. In this overview, I am attentive to how the girls use images to tell and make sense of a complex story about human sex trafficking on a global and local scale. I merge my readings of the PowerPoint slides, pieces of the presentation transcripts and pieces from the post-presentation Q&A session in an effort to make sense of the entire “restory-ing” process. The presentation brings to light how the four girls are grappling with the limited and often contradictory (public) information about the injustice. When data is not available, they draw upon their prior

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engagements with members at local community sites to develop personal/group inferences about how to best combat human sex trafficking.

Standing In (the Gaps) For

Figure 3. Title Slide from Human Sex Trafficking “Explain” PowerPoint Presentation (March 2013) ! ! ! “Our topic is human sex trafficking.” With the opening slide projected, Chika introduced the presentation and then Mr. Logan advanced to the second slide. The opening slide told a visually striking story of struggle and solidarity. The choice and arrangement of images illustrated how the students are attempting to challenge the public narrative of human sex trafficking by inserting themselves into the story. The title slide

(figure 3) contained six (6) images: 4 images of bound body parts, including 3 sets of hands bound by rope (bottom right), a shipping label (top center), and chains (bottom 146

left) as well as a pair of legs against a satin backdrop bound at the ankles by a chain (top left). The two (2) remaining images are staged photos of Tay (top right) and Josefina

(bottom center). In contrast to the reappropriated Internet images, none of the young girls appeared to be physically bound as they are photographed from the waist up. The students used running mascara and black eyeliner to emphasize crying and pain.

Signifying Dress & Changing the Story: Fashioned to Advocate

The dominant narratives about human sex trafficking involve bondage, abduction, and sexual violence. The girls’ use of disjointed images of bound appendages and the lack of captions emphasized that little is known about the victims’ identities. The pictures suggested that victims of human sex trafficking are often rendered invisible insofar as gender, socioeconomic status, and in many cases, racial and ethnic backgrounds are concerned. By inserting pictures of themselves, the students also highlighted a reality that they elaborate on later in the presentation and throughout the school year: victims can be anywhere, even in our own communities.

Their use of staged, yet personal, photos speak directly to the theme of

“challenging invisibility” and can be read as their attempt to bring a human aspect to the social injustice of human sex trafficking. According to Perkins (2000), “The act of writing the self frequently constitutes a move from invisibility to visibility (after all, to be seen for something other than who one is still to exist in a state of invisibility” (p.30).

Therefore, the girls’ inscribe themselves into the narrative about human sex trafficking in order to challenge the invisibility of the injustice. The girls’ sullen faces suggested that victims should not be rendered invisible, but seen as whole people with identities, memories and emotions, a point that contrasts with the disjointed pictures of body parts.

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The body parts captured how traffickers and perpetrators often treat individuals as pieces for sale or fragments for personal use. Throughout their presentation, the girls emphasized that human sex trafficking is a form of slavery, as evoked by the images (see the image located in the top center of Figure 3). However, the students did not overdramatize or oversexualize the issue. Instead of wearing heavy makeup and tattered clothing, they dressed as themselves in solid plain-colored clothes that covered their entire bodies. Therefore, their appearance also spoke to the theme of “reciprocal engagement” or raising awareness in a way that respects the victims, survivors, and advocates. By choosing to dress in plain-clothes, the students debunked the “blame the victim” discourse around young female bodies and dress often associated with rape culture. It is important to note that activists against rape challenge the misconception that women and girls’ fashions are invitations for sexual violence.

During the question and answer session, Mr. Logan commended the girls’ use of their own bodies in the presentation, and he noted that their decision to use their own bodies represented respect in what that did not jeopardize the lives of the victims.

Mr. Logan: I would also say that I like that you did the photography of yourselves

as victims so you’re not trying to be…to the victims

Catalia: Yeah, we couldn’t find anybody (“Explain” Presentation, 72-74)

Even if the girls did “find victims,” using their photos would breech the trust and confidentiality that are essential to working with human sex traffic survivors. Catalia’s response highlighted some important moves the students made throughout this process, such as filling, or standing in for parts of the narrative on human sex trafficking that they could not readily locate. The girls “filled in” again during their presentation when they

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discuss the charts and the group’s social justice experience with community members at a local organization.

Conflicting Silence: Making Sense in the Absence of

Ambiguous charts. As students began to discuss the statistics, the figures in their

PowerPoint presentation highlighted the fragmented nature of data on human sex trafficking. The next three slides I feature in this section offer data about types of human trafficking and the demographics of victims. According to Tay, “this graph (see figure 4) shows the type of trafficking happening all around the world…Human trafficking includes sex, labor…” (“Explain” Presentation, 11-12).

Figure 4. Statistics slide (#5) from “Explain” PowerPoint Presentation. According to the graph: Labor trafficking makes up 45% of trafficking, while 45% of potential trafficking is sex trafficking, and 10% is not specified (March 2013).

As Mr. Logan advanced to the next slide, Tay explains, “This graph (Figure 5) shows the average amount of each gender that is forced into trafficking. It also shows the average amount of trafficking in which they end up” (“Explain” Presentation, 12-13).

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Mrs. Munroe, the English teacher, interrupted the presentation with a question, “Can you explain to us what we’re looking at?” (“Explain” Presentation, 14)

Men Women Children Boys Girls Sexual Exploitation Forced Labor

Figure 5. Statistics slide (#6) from “Explain” PowerPoint presentation. Chart contains percentages of victims according to gender. The bars to the far right represent the acts associated with trafficking. (March 2013) ! ! ! Chika jumped in with an answer, “It has the different percents—what is men, women, children, boys and girls. Usually, women is the highest, with children being girls and um the highest type of trafficking there is sexual trafficking” (“Explain”

Presentation, 15-16). According to Chika’s reading of the graph, the first five [purple] bars on the graph represent victims of human sex trafficking by gender. None of the numbers in the graph total 100%. For example, 9% of the victims are men, 77% are

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women, and 33% are children. It is unclear to what the percentages for boys (12%) and girls (48%) are in reference. According to the sixth [tan] bar, 87% of victims are subjected to sexual exploitation, while the seventh [red] bar suggests that 28% of victims are subjected to forced labor. The discrepancies suggest that there is possibly overlap in the reported data as victims can be subjected to forced labor and sexual exploitation.

Mr. Logan proceeded to the final statistic slide, which contained a detailed graphic that offers more information than the prior one-dimensional charts. Chika explained, “The last slide (Figure 6) shows the average amount of people trafficked in the

United States 14 to 17 thousand a year. 800 thousand people worldwide are trafficked a year and that they are the region with the greatest trafficking is the United States and

Asia” (“Explain” presentation, 17-19).

Figure 6. Statistics Slide (#7) from “Explain” PowerPoint Presentation. Although the overall graphic offered “World Wide Human Trafficking Statistics”, the blurbs to the right of the pie chart provided information specific to the United States. (March 2013) ! ! !

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In reviewing the PowerPoint slides and the transcript from the girls’ presentation, group members understood what was represented in each graphs. However, collectively the graphs provided a hazy picture of the victims’ demographics and the acts associated with sex trafficking. At the end of the presentation, Mrs. Munroe returned to the discrepancies, not to critique what the girls have included in their PowerPoint, but to open the conversation to a more informed dialogue. Mrs. Munroe asked the students to

“go back to like the data thing and how the numbers are different.” She questioned,

“Why do you guys think different sources would record different numbers?” The following exchanged occurred:

Tay: The year, like in 2012…

Mrs. Munroe: Okay, the year…

Josefina: Because now in like [this state], we just got the new casino so like it

brings in more sex trafficking and more people and so like it like changes every

year cause we add in more stuff and take away more stuff

Mrs. Munroe: Well, it’s hard to monitor right?

Group: Yeah

Mrs. Munroe: It’s not like you’re [the perpetrators] registered. These many people,

“I kidnapped these many people this week…” so those numbers aren’t out there,

right? (“Explain” Presentation, 79-88)

Mrs. Munroe raised an important point about how information is gathered regarding human sex trafficking, such as who is collecting and reporting the numbers of victims.

The students took heed to her point, as it came up again months later during our group

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reflection interview. The gaps in their selected data add depth to their story about the covert nature of this injustice.

The Cycle in Our Backyard: Local Realities of Human Sex Trafficking

Although the data is scarce, the students used the online statistics and a community experience to make the cycle of human sex trafficking visible to their classmates. Using worldwide and then national statistics, the students provided a panoramic and local perspective of the issue, as illustrated in the following exchange:

Tay: 400 and 500 thousand people in America are trafficked early. 35% of these

people are children. The victims come from all over the world such as South

America, South Asia, the Soviet Union and the US.

Chika: The problem is [state] is one of the top cities where human sex trafficking

happens. Human sex trafficking invades victims’ natural rights (“Explain”

Presentation, 25-29).

Although the shift was brief, Tay and Chika highlighted how the social injustice has national, global, and local impacts. Of the “400 and 500 thousand people in America” who are trafficked, they “come from all over the world.” Chika then adds in that “[this state] is one of the top cities.” Although this could be read as a misstep (since the place she mentioned is a state), she meshed two facts together in her statement: it was a top state because two major cities in the state (including Poinsette, the city where Justice

High School is located) ranked high on the list. The girls did mention the state is number three in the nation for human sex trafficking. During the question and answer session at the end of the presentation, another student, Joy, returned to the local nature of human sex trafficking as a social justice issue.

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Joy: Where are some places in [this state] where sex trafficking takes place?

Group: The casino we just got.

Joy: I also live near the casino so I didn’t know that (“Explain” Presentation, 89-91)

Information about the “casino” serving as a local site in which human sex trafficking occurred was not presented in the PowerPoint slides, so it is interesting how Chika’s brief statement about the city of Poinsette being number three during the presentation resonated with Joy several minutes later. Students collected additional information about the newly built casino’s ties to human sex trafficking when they visited The Alliance, a local community organization, and interviewed a volunteer, Ms. Jeter. Because each group was required to “experience their social justice issue and document this experience” as part of their Social Justice Capstone Projects, students in the human sex trafficking group visited The Alliance (see photo collages in Figure 7). During the presentation, Catalia explained how the human sex trafficking group came to visit The

Alliance and meet Ms. Jeter:

Catalia: We got involved thanks to Ms. Butler. She took us on March 15 to a

volunteer experience to creating grocery bags for the victims. We helped serve

food to the victims. [Played] Bingo. They told us about their stories. During the

experience, we had the chance to meet Ms. Jeter. Ms. Jeter is part of [another]

organization [Dorma] that helps victims during and after human sex trafficking—

Next Slide—and that’s just more pictures we took (Figure 7).

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Figure 7. Photos of students in the food pantry at The Alliance (Slide 13 from “Explain” PowerPoint). Top left: Students with Alliance staff member who coordinated the service project. Top right: Tay and Catalia preparing bags for future pick-up. Bottom left: Josefina, Catalia & Chika preparing bags. Bottom center: Catalia sorting canned goods (and posing for picture). Bottom right (top): Photo of me, taken by Josefina. Bottom right (bottom): Chika preparing the donated plastic bags for storage (after being instructed by another volunteer).

When Mrs. Munroe returned to the question and answer session, another student,

Becky, inquired about their experience at The Alliance. While the girls focused on the

Alliance’s food pantry, Mrs. Prince, another teacher in the Humanities class, used this opportunity to learn how the girls made sense of their visit to The Alliance in the context of their project.

Becky: Where was the place you went to volunteer at?

Tay: Um…Ms. Butler, can you…

TB: The Alliance 155

Josefina: The Alliance and when we got there—into the pantry and it was kinda

like a grocery store for people who don’t have the means to go out and get food

and what they would do is let the people come in and pick their own stuff out of

that area—like it was an actual grocery store.

Chika: They had carts.

Josefina: Yeah, and we help bag up food and stuff

Mrs. Prince: Can you explain to the class how your volunteer experience was

connected to your topic? I know it was. I know it was. I just want you to explain.

Chika: Well it was related because um a lot of the victims once they’ve been

through human sex trafficking they’re scared to go out because they’re afraid they

might be seen and recognized and taken back so they’d rather stay home and stuff

instead of going to the grocery stores—

Josefina: It helps them get back out there. (“Explain” Presentation, 49-62)

The students built connections between their volunteer experience at The Alliance and their social justice project on human sex trafficking that we had not discussed prior to their class presentation. However, I must admit that the entire volunteer experience was not explicitly connected to their specific social justice topic. A local youth outreach program sponsored a “week of service” during Spring Break (for most of the colleges and universities in the city). One of the service projects was a workshop about human sex trafficking. At Justice High, upperclass students took the state-mandated graduation test that same week, which meant that freshmen were not expected to arrive on school grounds until the period before lunch. Freshmen who did not have transportation for later in the school day took the buses to school and stayed in the cafeteria for study hall. Since

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the four girls were in study hall, I arranged for them to attend the workshop where they would learn more about their social justice issue. After the workshop, we would serve lunch to and speak with survivors. Due to scheduling issues and low levels of expressed community interest, the human sex trafficking workshop was cancelled. However, I was advised to contact Ms. Jeter, who works with Dorma, a local organization that focuses on helping women get out of the human trafficking cycle.

I called Ms. Jeter and she agreed to meet with the girls and me as we completed another “week of service” project at The Alliance. Unlike what the students reported during their class presentation, while at The Alliance we setup lunch for individuals who were HIV-positive and their families, not victims of human sex trafficking. After setting up lunch, the girls met with Ms. Jeter, who worked with Dorma, but was volunteering at

The Alliance. During their informal interview with Ms. Jeter, they learned that she helped formerly incarcerated women get out of human sex trafficking. Ms. Jeter spoke with them about how her program at Dorma provided the women with supplies (e.g., toiletries) and resources (e.g., legal assistance) to escape their traffickers. She also shared what some of the survivors spoke about during “Catch Court”, which is public event where survivors recounted their trafficking experiences.

Therefore, the girls’ reading of their volunteer experience at The Alliance and interview with Ms. Jeter points to how they tried to make sense of their visit and growing awareness of human sex trafficking. In fact, their explanations of how human sex trafficking survivors could also use The Alliance’s food pantry is accurate, even if partial

(the pantry is also used by individuals who are living with HIV).

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You and Everyone: A Call to Action

In addition to discussing possible resources for those getting out of the sex trafficking cycle, the students offer advice on how their classmates can avoid the trafficking cycle. Their closing slide serves as a verbal and visual warning:

“Everyone should take and initiative interest in helping to stop this atrocious

injustice. You never know if you can be next!” (Chika)

“BEAWARE, not everyone you know is truly who they say they are.” (Catalia)

“Beware, keep a close look at your surroundings. You never know who’s watching.”

(Figure 8)

The students’ narrative comes full circle in this slide as it provides the following message: “To prevent becoming a victim (as depicted by Tay and Catalia’s photos), remember the information we provided (in the previous slides) and be aware (quotes from Chika and Catalia).” On the slide, the texts serve as preventative measures one can take to avoid becoming a victim, while the photos of Tay and Catalia (in the bottom right corner) serve as reminders of the outcome.

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Figure 8. “Our Message” Slide (#14) from “Explain” PowerPoint (March 2013)

! ! ! Collectively, the quotes assert that “stop[ping] this atrocious injustice [human sex trafficking]” requires personal and collective responsibility. The students use the pronoun “you” to emphasize the steps that individuals must take: “be aware”, take

“interest in helping to stop” human sex trafficking, and “keep a close look at your surroundings.” There is no middle ground in the world of human sex trafficking because

“You never know if you can be next!” People can either be perpetrators, advocates

(working against sex trafficking), or victims; there are no innocent bystanders.

Therefore, the students are encouraging their audience to take action. Failing to take precaution (or following the girls’ advice) can: (a) put an individual at risk of becoming a victim, or (b) send the message that an individual supports the injustice and perpetrator.

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“We need a song”: Repurposing Music for Social Justice

Chika looked over at me and spoke directly into the camera, “You see Ms. Butler how they never like my idea.” Tay quickly chimed in, “No, I don’t like your ideas,” and

Josefina jokingly co-signed with Tay and said, “Cause they’re so bleh.” This was possibly the third or fourth dispute that happened within the last 10 minutes. Since I was not sure what was going to happen next and I wanted them to pick a song soon, I attempted to alleviate some of the tension with an off-camera comment. “Love one another.”

“We love one another,” Josefina assured me. No fights—at least not in this group—were going to break out today (Human Trafficking Music Discussion, 143-147).

Three weeks after the “Explain” presentation, the girls were in the library debating over which song to select for the “Revolutionary/Social Justice Music Project” assignment. Mr. Logan and Mrs. Prince distributed the handout during the last class period (see below).

Revolutionary/Social Justice Music Project Instructions

Directions: Working with a partner, choose a song that shares your perspective about a certain social justice issue about which you are both passionate. You will discuss your song to the rest of the class in a presentation no longer than 3 minutes but no less than 2 minutes. Be sure to do the following:

1. Display the lyrics of your song.

2. Identify the social justice issue(s) and the author’s message.

3. Describe the tone of the song (include evidence for this)

4. Upload your presentation to Blackboard.

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When I originally sat down at the table, the girls were looking at several flyers and pamphlets that Chika collected about local human trafficking events and programs.

She was sharing information with her group members as they shuffled the documents around on the table. Placing her finger on the flyer in front of Josefina, she explained:

“On the 20th, there is this lady who’s talking and I talked to Ms. J, creator of ‘Stories

Behind Their Eyes.’” She picked up the pamphlet for “Stories Behind Their Eyes,” which is a local afterschool service learning initiative created by a school counselor. The initiative was designed for young people to learn about and advocate against human sex trafficking. Chika continued speaking, “She said she could give us an interview with her

[nods at the flyer laying on the table] and we could probably get an interview with the survivors.”

Josefina pointed to the woman on the flyer and asked, “Is she one of the—was she sex trafficked?” She immediately started singing, “I’m a survivor,” and then she paused and laughed. Tay smiled. “We should use that song,” she declared as she pointed at

Josefina. “Don’t we have to choose a song? That’s the song.” The song she was referring to was “Survivor”, a 2001 single and album from the R&B group, Destiny’s

Child. The idea was quickly derailed when Chika began reciting the chorus of “Not

Afraid” by Eminem: “Everybody take a stand.” Tay turned away and began writing in her notebook, “I don’t like that song.” “No,” Josefina co-signed. Unmoved, Chika continued, “No matter what the weather is—” “You mean Eminem?” Josefina interrupted. Chika stopped reciting the lyrics. Josefina attempted to correct her, “You were not singing the right thing.” Chika refused to back down and continued with the song, “It goes, ‘I’m not afraid to take a stand, come everybody come hold my hand.’”

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Tay, who appeared annoyed by this debate and the fact that the Destiny’s Child suggestion went unacknowledged, got the group back on task: “Okay so what are we supposed to be doing? Can you turn to that page?” Chika straightened a stack of papers.

Tay asked again, “Can you turn to that page, please?” (Human Trafficking Music

Discussion, 1-15)

The students tossed around various ideas for the music project, ranging from using lyrics to create a slogan to editing and compiling songs to create a mixtape. From

Tyler the Creator to Nicki Minaj to Chaka Khan and Mary J. Blige—they sped through a list of artists. Josefina suggested Justin Bieber. We even had a Natasha Bettingfield sing-along with students from another table. The girls debated in hopes of selecting the

“perfect” song to tell the story of human sex trafficking. As each song suggestion went through a quick analysis and vote, the students began to solidify their criteria for the type of song that would best convey their message. They decided they would create a mixtape

(or a compilation of songs) for this assignment, and only wanted songs that aligned with the issue of human sex trafficking, as noted in the following exchange:

Josefina: And we can do Mary J “Runawaaayy”

Chika: Runaway Love? [Tay: Yes we can] No, no, that’s more like domestic

violence

Josefina: Oh it is. True true. (Human Trafficking Music Discussion, 43-45)

Each time they thought of a song, someone would locate the song in their playlists or on

YouTube, listen, and then pass the headphones to a group member for feedback. The students were also adamant about originality. Josefina started singing then stopped,

“That’s Nicki Minaj. No.” “[That song] would work. They used that last year,” Chika

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suggested. “No. We’re not using nothing nobody used last year,” Josefina declared

(Human Trafficking Music Discussion, 79-81). Although they would have to repurpose a song for the project, they remained steadfast to selecting an original song that captured a specific element of human sex trafficking. During the debate, I was not clear about what message they wanted to convey by their selected song. Finally, the girls established some criteria for the song they wanted to use, as they did not want to use a “rap” song (Human

Trafficking Music Discussion, 29), a song that someone else used (Human Trafficking

Music Discussion, 81), or a love song (Human Trafficking Music Discussion, 85).

Therefore, the Nicki Minaj song that Josefina was singing to herself was an easy “no,” because the group decided that they needed “a song not a ‘yo yo yo what’s up’” (Human

Trafficking Music Discussion, 29). This selection-listen-decide process occurred for approximately 18 minutes. It ended when the students realized that they had to make a decision about a song and delegate some of the tasks in order to complete the music project by the fast approaching due date. Unfortunately, the group members were still unclear about the project and their responsibilities. Tay, under the impression that the group was making a mixtape for the assignment, located a few more songs and asked group members to listen (Human Trafficking Music Discussion, 219-246). She mentioned making a CD by Monday and no one disagreed with her idea. Someone still had to locate the lyrics for all of the songs they selected. Ding. Ding. It was the end of first and second periods. We all left the library with different ideas of what the end product would look like.

April 16, 2013. The girls stood in the front of the classroom to present their

“Revolutionary/Social Justice Music Presentation.” The sound of fast paced stringed

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instruments blared from the overhead speakers followed by a syncopated drum. Three distinct female voices followed:

Now that you’re out of my life

I’m so much better

You thought that I’d be weak without you

But I’m stronger

You thought that I’d be broke without you

But I’m richer

You thought that I’d be sad without you

I laugh harder

You thought I wouldn’t grow without you

Now I’m wiser

Though that I’d be helpless without you

But I’m smarter

You thought that I’d be stressed without you

But I’m chillin’ (Revolutionary/Social Justice Music Powerpoint, Slide 2)

I chuckled. The students selected “Survivor” by Destiny’s Child. After 20 minutes of suggesting and vetoing songs, they ended up using the song Josefina jokingly suggested at the beginning of the discussion. As I listened to the song and watch the PowerPoint display the lyrics, I wondered what happened to the mixtape that Tay was going to spend the weekend making. Once the song ended, the students offered their literary and social justice analysis.

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Chika: The tone for our song is brave because she’s like taking a stand for herself

and like coming out of human trafficking

Tay: Another tone is confident because she show[ed] that she could become

something without like the so-called ‘pimp’ because they draw them with by like

‘I’ll give you a gift’ and like yeah…start relationship with you.

Catalia: Basically, the message in the lyrics was that now that she is free, she has

survived the one that did all the things to her. He thought she wouldn’t be good,

but then she’s proving him wrong. She’s singing this to him, “thought I would be

down, wouldn’t survive, but look at me now” so all that. (Social Justice Music

Presentation, 3:32-4:18)

Instead of selecting a song that focused on abuse, trauma, and helplessness, themes often associated with human sex trafficking, they chose a song that echoed resilience, strength, and determination. The girls’ song selection and analysis speaks to the theme of “reciprocal engagement” as they drew upon their interactions with community volunteers (Ms. Jeter from Dorma) and survivors (the potential interview that

Chika mentioned at the beginning of the discussion) to capture a different aspect of human sex trafficking. In her research on autobiographical texts of Black female activists, Perkins (2000) asserts that, “Activists use life-writing to re-create themselves as well as the era they recount. Many things are at stake for them in this process…[including] control over their own public images…” (xiii). I argue that like the historical Black female activists, the girls in the human sex trafficking group also engage in “life writing” by exploring the lives of individuals affected by the social injustice of trafficking. The students engaged in “life writing” by intentionally repurposing a form of

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popular culture to tell an unpopular story: a story of survival after being trafficked.

Therefore, their Revolutionary/Social Justice Music Presentation was an effort to reshape the “public image” of survivors.

As noted in an earlier discussion of their “Explain” PowerPoint presentation, the girls’ Revolutionary/Social Justice Music presentation created multilayered texts, or youth activist narratives, that reflected their emerging understanding of human sex trafficking. The song, “Survivor”, lacked pronouns; as there are no words in the song that suggested whether the intended “you” is male or female. It is also unclear what specifically happened between the female singer (“survivor”) and the other person, except that the person is gone (“now that you’re out of my life”). The presentation highlighted that the students aligned the singer with a former victim (now seen as a survivor) and the perpetrator as the departed ‘you.’ As a result, the music presentation illustrated how the students were developing an empathetic lens and coming to see life after sex trafficking through the eyes of the victims. Therefore, their presentation stands as a youth activist narrative, or forms of life writing that seeks to reclaim and help others reclaim their human rights and lives. By focusing on survival rather than abuse, the girls used the information gathered from interviewing survivors to highlight how people have turned their trauma into sources of strength.

“It’s not just one type of person”:

Making Their Final Story Public at Art in Action Night

May 23, 2013. Junior and senior students repositioned spotlights along the overhead metal tracks. Mr. Logan and another teacher rolled large wooden easels around the room. The art-room-turned-art-gallery began to fill with the smell of pizza and the 166

sound of overlapping conversations among students, parents, and friends. Although the

Humanities’ teachers assured me that everything was set, I wanted to jump in and help. I gathered a stack of programs from the stage, moved toward the entrance, and served as an usher/greeter or at least a program distributer. Not only had the room transformed, but so had the students. A Latina student in a red and black ensemble, full wavy hair, and a hint of red lipstick, approached me. Her hair was bouncing as she hurried to the door. It was

Chika. “Hi, Ms. Butler!” “You look nice,” I smiled and admired her patent leather pumps. She glanced around the room, and asked, “Who all will be here?” I handed her a program, “Whomever you invited. You know, friends, family, community members.”

“Oh, I was hoping it would be more officials, senators, the mayor…” looking perplexed and then slightly disappointed, she shrugged and walked across the room to her group’s project. The event featured ninth and tenth grade students’ creative representations of their Social Justice Capstone Projects, ranging from artwork to videos to spoken word performances. The instructions for the creative representations of their

Capstone Projects were the following:

Design a mode of empowerment to share with an authentic audience. The goal is

to empower others and make your product sustainable for future generations to

use. Your mode of delivery is completely open, but must include multimedia,

movement, and creativity. Empowerment can come in the form of a solution,

advocacy, or awareness and can be expressed through dance, art piece, speech,

drama, public service announcement, music, banner, video, newsletter, or any

other method approved by the teacher. Your message must be positive and clear.

(Social Justice Capstone Instructions, see Appendix B)

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After circling the room a few times to take pictures of the projects, Mr. Logan reminded me that he would record the students presenting their pieces. I almost forgot that I was supposed to do the same. Mrs. Prince and I walked from station to station and videotaped students telling us about their “empowerment” projects. We asked the students about their intent and what they learned throughout this process. The following example represents an exchange between Mrs. Prince and the girls from the human sex trafficking group:

Mrs. Prince: Can you tell me one thing that you learned—like the most striking

thing you learned about your topic while you were researching?

Tay: I didn’t know that it affected [the city of Poinsette] it doesn’t seem like [the

city of Poinsette] would be more affected

Catalia: Yeah, [the city of Poinsette] is number two and it’s mainly going to get

more higher cause of the Casino, like we were interviewing [with] Ms. Butler and

trying to get in there—

Chika: It [human sex trafficking] also went from the third largest to the second

largest enterprise

Josefina: And we also learned that the people that you hang around with it might

be [a perpetrator], the people we saw a list of people that actually do this it could

be your neighbor, priest, preachers…[Tay: anybody] It’s very surprising… (Art in

Action Night, Mrs. Prince & TB’s recording, 26-36)

Their use of visual design (e.g., scale of the artwork, use of hands, selected colors) in their displayed artwork and accompanying pamphlet demonstrated how they sought to raise awareness about human sex trafficking—a major social justice issue. I focus

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specifically on how the students use visuals to accomplish three major tasks: (a) to tell local/global story (blur or cross boundaries), (b) to blur the lines of (who can be a) victim and perpetrator, and (c) to get other people involved, or activate bystanders. I also discuss how each task also speaks to one or more of the major themes (bearing witness, challenging invisibility, constructing windows and mirrors, and reciprocal engagement) emerging from my analysis of their Capstone project. Some tasks are situated in areas of thematic overlap, as they speak to one or more themes and demonstrate how the themes are interconnected.

Figure 9. “Stories Behind Their Hands”, Empowerment art piece created and presented by Catalia, Chika, Josefina and Tay at “Art in Action Night” (May 2013)

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A Story Across Borders: Connecting the Local and Global

In their artwork (Figure 9) and pamphlet, the students meshed together original and reappropriated visuals to highlight the local and global nature of human sex trafficking. For the artwork, the students’ intentionality with regards to size and design reflects how they made sense of the online data, interview information, and their own perspectives of the issue. In the following passage, the girls explain the message embedded in their artwork to Mr. Logan, Mrs. Prince and me:

Chika: Our project is diverse because not only is it happening here in the United

States, it’s also happening all over the world like in Asia and Africa. Our hands

represent the different ethnics of the people because it’s not only one certain

group that is being attacked. Our hands represent many things: it can represent

the struggle the victims have gone through, the pain they feel, like it could

represent them being abused, it just represents everything. (Art in Action Night,

Mrs. Prince & TB’s recording, 11-15)

Josefina: The reason why we made it so big is because it’s not something small.

It’s actually a big issue around the world and if we can show people—kids our

age, to little kids to grown men and grown women maybe they’ll try to like help

and get more people and talk to more people about it.

Tay: And it needs to be noticed because it’s not really noticed (Art in Action

Night, Mr. Logan’s recording, 24-28)

The large multilayered art piece captures the transnational aspect of human sex trafficking, which speaks to the themes of reciprocal engagement, bearing witness, and challenging invisibility. The act of witnessing “means testifying to both something you

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have seen with your own eyes and something that you cannot see” (Oliver, 2001, p.86).

Although the students were unable to pull from personal experiences of human sex trafficking, they drew upon online research and interviews with a survivor and Ms. Jeter

(see earlier discussion in “The Cycle in Our Backyard”) to develop hands that “represent the different ethnics of the people.” The students’ description of the piece connects to the themes of reciprocal engagement and challenging invisibility in that the students intentionally selected a large canvas to make the ever-present nature of human sex trafficking visible to their audience. By calling attention to the fact that “different ethnics” are impacted by this social injustice, the girls’ piece also challenges invisibility of survivors. The art piece contains original images, such as hands drawn in the background and plaster hands painted in various flesh tones glued on top, crafted from their interpretations of different human sex trafficking experiences.

In addition to the artwork, each group was required to create a pamphlet that provided supplemental information about their social justice issue that individuals could take with them at the end of the “Art in Action” night (or in the event that students were away from their stations). The girls in the human sex trafficking group created a pamphlet that contained: a blurb about a survivor who founded a local organization, information about victims’ countries of origin (global concerns), and an image of Catalia.

Although Catalia is not a human sex trafficking survivor, her photograph (as used in the

“Explain” PowerPoint presentation months prior) allows her to stand in place of survivors and victims. Through the blurb about the local organization and Catalia’s image, the students “bear witness” and relay the message that human sex trafficking is a local issue that can happen to anyone. Collectively, the images and text in pamphlet demonstrate

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how such a “big issue around the world” that is “not really noticed” impacts the local community.

By inserting themselves into the story of human sex trafficking, through photos of themselves and using plaster casts of their hands, the girls continue to challenge invisibility. Perkins (2000) argues that Black female activists used autobiographical texts to write their stories and reclaim themselves from the invisibility of marginalization.

Although the girls’ artwork and pamphlet are not autobiographical texts, the artwork and pamphlet are spaces where the girls are reclaiming themselves from negative depictions of adolescents as passive and apolitical (Ginwright, Cammarota, & Noguera, 2005;

Lesko, 1996, 2001). Although the Capstone directions required visuals, the directions did not require the girls to include photos of survivors or themselves. However, by intentionally incorporating pictures of themselves into the pamphlet and plaster casts of their hands into the artwork, the girls move from bystanders, who were unfamiliar with sex trafficking, to activists, who wanted to end the injustice of trafficking.

Helping or Hurting: The Semiotics of Hands

Students reappropriated the image of hands to blur the lines between perpetrator and victim. In the “Explain” PowerPoint, the girls used images of unidentified bound hands from the Internet. The artwork contains hands the girls made using plaster strips.

In the artwork, none of the hands are bound (see Figure 10).

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Figure 10. Girls’ use of hands across Social Justice Capstone Project. The image on the left is from the girls’ artwork, “Stories Behind the Hands”, that they presented at the Art in Action night (May 2013). The three images on the right are images of hands from the Internet that the girls incorporated into their “Explain” PowerPoint presentation (March 2013).

The “unbound” hands reflect what the girls learned about the hidden nature of human sex trafficking, especially that victims do not wear physical chains or ropes and can be anywhere. In the following excerpt, the girls explain the complex meanings of the hands to Mr. Logan:

Mr. Logan: Can you guys explain your piece really quickly?

Catalia: I like this part. It’s not just one type of person. But it’s different people—

men, women, children, kids—different colors. Bruises and blood cause it’s not a

pretty picture, it’s not at all.

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Chika: Our hands represent the ethnics of the people that are going through this

injustice. It represents the pain, the struggle, the survival, of being abuse[d]. It

represents the perpetrators and their intentions. (Art in Action Night, Mr. Logan’s

recording, 14-19)

In their discussion with Mr. Logan, Mrs. Prince and me, the girls offered different

“Stories Behind the Hands”, or explanations as to whom the hands belong and what they represent. The shifting stories highlight the ways in which the girls are upholding and deconstructing gendered narratives around human sex trafficking—where men are perpetrators and women are victims. The girls’ use the pronoun “he” when discussing perpetrator is an example of upholding the gendered narrative. Their discussion about why men might not talk about being victims of human sex trafficking is an example of deconstructing the gendered narrative. The acts of “upholding and deconstructing narratives” connect to the theme of constructing windows and mirrors because the girls have created a window that allows their audience to see a nuanced story about victims, survivors and perpetrators. For example, Tay explained, “The title of the project is called

‘Stories Behind the Hands’ and it represents all the people who have been through it, the pain, the abuse, the mental abuse.” She continued, “You know when they get out of the situation, their stories—they’re never going to forget that ‘I was being forced’ and the different colors…complexion represent it’s not only in America, it’s all around the world and it’s not only women who go through this problem, so is men” (Art in Action Night,

Mrs. Prince & TB’s recording, 6-10).

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Chika then explained that their “project is diverse because not only is it happening here in the United States, it’s also happening all over the world like in Asia and Africa.”

Elaborating on this point, Chika shared:

Our hands represent the different ethnics of the people because it’s not only one

certain group that is being attacked. Our hands represent many things: it can

represent the struggle the victims have gone through, the pain they feel, like it

could represent them being abused, it just represents everything (Art in Action

Night, Mrs. Prince & TB’s recording, 12-15).

Both Tay and Chika explained their thoughts further:

Tay: And the hand in the middle represents the perpetrators like drawing them in

Chika: Like it could seem like he’s trying to help you but in the end he always

had a hidden motive to capture you (Art in Action Night, Mrs. Prince & TB’s

recording, 16-18)

However, Chika’s comment “he always had a hidden motive” suggest that she is still upholding the narrative of men as perpetrators. However, later in their discussion, the students challenged the gendered narratives of victims/survivors.

Tay: I always thought it was only with women and kids but you would never

know it was with…[group: men]

Mrs. Prince: uh-huh. That’s true.

Catalia: But they don’t speak up

Josefina: Because they feel like their manhood or somebody is going to make fun

of them because it happened so what they try to do is keep it in but it also

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becomes a big problem in their life (Art in Action Night, Mrs. Prince & TB’s

recording, 37-43)

The artwork and their explanation of the artwork illustrated how the girls grappled with and challenged the dichotomous narrative around gender and human sex trafficking, which focused primarily on men as perpetrators and women as victims. Similar to the

Social Justice Music Presentation, “Stories Behind their Hands” (artwork) emerged as a form of life writing to challenge the “public image” of human sex trafficking (Perkins,

2000).

The girls’ use of ambiguity becomes a rhetorical call for viewers to be aware and prepared. Although the hands belong to mostly young females of color (the 4 group members, a sophomore attending Justice High, and me) and a white male teacher, the final hands are painted an array of skin tones to mask the contributor’s identity (i.e., an

African American female’s hand can be painted a light peach color). The unidentified plaster hands also contain splotches of red and purple paint to convey signs of possible abuse. On one level, the splotches represent victims’ scars, and on another level, the red and purple dots represent the blood of victims on the hands of perpetrators and bystanders. Therefore, the final image blurs the lines because the audience is unable to determine which hands represent the hands of victims, perpetrators, and bystanders.

Since human sex trafficking is difficult to recognize, the girls created a piece of art to help viewers develop a heightened sense of awareness and a critical lens that would prepare them to not only protect themselves, but also to help others. The girls’ call encourages viewers to avoid the ambiguity of victim-bystander-perpetrator by making a conscious decision to stop the cycle of human sex trafficking:

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TB: So what should we do?

Mrs. Prince: Yeah, what can we do to help?

Josefina: We could speak out a lot more about it. Just make sure that people

know that this is happening and they [survivors] are not alone and they could

always have somebody there to help them

Tay: You should bring more awareness because our world is not aware this is

happening…make the right decisions (Art in Action Night, Mrs. Prince & TB’s

recording, 44-49)

The girls’ responses, “We could speak out a lot more” and “you should bring more awareness”, speak to the theme of “constructing windows and mirrors.” The girls’ artwork serves as a window and mirror in that it allows the audience to see into the complexities of human sex trafficking (window) and moves the audience to then question their role in the larger scheme of trafficking (mirror). As the girls continue to talk about

“Stories Behind Their Hands,” the theme of “constructing windows and mirrors” becomes more prominent as the teachers ask probing questions about getting involved in the fight against human sex trafficking.

Activating Bystanders

Aside from being aware of surroundings and individuals, getting involved is presented as one of the “right decisions” against the social injustice of trafficking. At the end of the group’s explanation, Mrs. Prince asked the girls a follow-up question, “So as, you know, average citizens you want us to take notice and be aware and tell people they’re not alone?” Chika immediately answered:

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Yes, there’s many organizations that work in bringing awareness...One that which

I work with was Stories Behind Their Eyes. It’s a new organization that is

supported by the—I don’t know what it is—Service Learning! It’s part of like a

service learning…and it’s been really amazing. They do many things like collect

donations and give it out to other organizations that also bring awareness to

human trafficking. (Art in Action Night, Mrs. Prince & TB’s recording, 50-57)

The girls received a similar question from Mr. Logan, but offered a different response.

According to Chika, “Organizations that are involved in human sex trafficking

[awareness] is Sister Safehaven, Stories Behind Their Eyes, [Josefina: NorthernStar]

NorthernStar Project” (Art in Action Night, Mr. Logan’s recording, 14-30)

At the end of each presentation, the students mention local organizations that are committed to interrupting the destructive cycle. With Mr. Logan, Chika listed two local organizations (Sister Safehaven and NorthernStar Project) and a service-learning program

(Stories Behind Their Eyes) that raise awareness and help survivors reenter society as citizens. However, Chika’s response to Mrs. Prince’s question was more in-depth as it highlighted her interest in a program that was accessible to her as a high school student.

Therefore, Chika’s response reflected how the art piece emerged as her own “window and mirror” in that Chika intently embedded what she gained from her involvement in the program into the Capstone Project. For example, the information about human sex traffickers came from an interview session that was arranged for the girls by the program’s coordinator. Also, the students appropriated the program’s name (“Stories

Behind Their Eyes”) into the title of their artwork (“Stories Behind Their Hands”). Chika

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shared in a later discussion that her involvement with “Stories Behind Their Eyes” stemmed from her older sister’s initial involvement with the program.

In the reflection interview, the girls, much like Chika, identify the catalysts for their commitment to the Social Justice Capstone Project and interest in the topic of human sex trafficking. Some of the catalysts include: viewing former student presentations about the social justice issue, receiving various forms of support from the

Humanities’ teachers, and learning about an issue that is prevalent, yet rarely discussed.

“You know an actionist, a rebelist”:

Forming a Youth Activist Stance through “Narrative Writing”

Hours before the “Art in Action” night (when the students would reveal their large art piece), we met to reflect upon the Social Justice Capstone process. During the interview, I had a few questions I wanted to ask, but once we started, I just allowed the students to talk about their learning, the experience, and interrupted with a question when

I needed clarity. Through girls’ reflections, I learn that they engage in social justice work

(especially in classes) because: (a) of their curiosity/genuine interest, (b) they enjoy the challenge of working independently (enjoy the challenge of non-standardized work or not doing “busy work” such as worksheets), and (c) activist practices seem accessible and safe. The Social Justice Capstone Project emerged from students’ topical curiosity, which led them to inquire into the topic by conducting Internet research, tapping into personal resources, and connecting to community organizations in order to create a large art piece.

Consequently, the overall design of the Project connects to the four themes: bearing witness (research and dialogue), reciprocal engagement (decision making), constructing windows and mirrors (creating spaces for audience to see into social injustice and enter

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the fight against social injustice), and challenging invisibility (bring attention to unseen issues and/or people). Therefore, in developing the Project, the girls began to develop their own “youth activist stance”, or an embodied consciousness (the overarching theme), that represented heightened level of responsibility and empathy and that informed how they responded to injustice. I emphasize “youth activist stance” because the students highlight practices that are accessible to individuals (young girls) their age.

Student Curiosity & Spaces to Inquire

When I asked, “So how did you choose your topic?” Josefina responded first.

“Um we saw that everybody else was doing like the other stuff.” Chika chimed in,

“Animal Shelters,” and in unison Josefina and Chika said, “Domestic Violence.”

Shaking her head in disgust, Chika defiantly gave “the hand” and admitted, “I didn’t want to do animal shelters.”

“I didn’t want to do it,” Josefina shook her head and continued. “I thought sexual trafficking, human trafficking was the most interesting one.” Chika began, “When we saw the video [about human sex trafficking] they [teachers] showed us from last year.”

“Yeah,” Catalia said as she rejoined the conversation. Chika continued, “that’s what made us decide that human trafficking what we wanted to do, cause they showed us a video from last year.” To this, Josefina nodded and shared, “It was very good and also nowadays you don’t really hear awareness, about human trafficking so it just made it even better to do that to focus on that awareness.” Chika then added, “That is a big issue,” to which Josefina closed, “going around the world.” (Group Reflection Human

Trafficking, 19-31)

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Although the Social Justice Capstone Project was a class assignment, the students admitted that they engaged in social justice work because the topic and format were unique. Since “nowadays you don’t really hear awareness about human trafficking”

(Josefina, Group Reflection Human Trafficking, 27-28), the Project gave them an opportunity to venture into something different and unknown. It is unclear as to whether students were jaded or disgusted by the horrors of animal shelters, but it was clear that the group was not interested in learning more about the issue. Therefore, they selected a topic that they felt stood out from the other issues that were presented such as: domestic violence, homelessness, LGBTQ rights, cyberbullying, domestic sexual violence, and environmental racism. Josefina offered a similar explanation when presenting their artwork to Mrs. Prince and me during the “Art in Action” event:

When y’all gave us our papers [project instructions] and we had to do a big

capstone project, we chose human sex trafficking because it’s very rare that you

hear people talk about and it happens around the world. (Josefina, Art in Action

Night, Mrs. Prince & TB’s recording, 1-2)

In the group reflection, the students also note that their interests were piqued when the Humanities teachers showed examples of last year’s Social Justice Capstones.

During the 2011-2012 academic year, one group of students in the Humanities class created a 5-minute movie about a young woman whose family’s financial hardships land her in the human sex trafficking cycle. The students conducted the research, developed the plot, wrote the script, videotaped and edited the footage. In the video, the young female character sees a flyer about the Salvation Army and visits the organization to get out of human trafficking. Therefore, the video served as a catalyst because it not only

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offered the girls insight into a “big issue” that affects people locally and globally, but it also showed them possibilities for their group’s approach to raising awareness about human sex trafficking as a social injustice.

“Do It Ourselves”: The Challenge and Rigor of Social Justice

The following exchange highlights how the students invested in the project because the Humanities class was a reaffirming space to face their insecurities, a safe space to test their ideas, and fertile ground to cultivate their hidden talents. As the girls reflected on the class, they shared that it was the teachers’ hands-off approach to the project that also informed their desire to create an art piece:

TB: What do you think—what are some things from the class that you think you

might’ve really learned to help you think differently about the world?

Chika: When you say in the class, you mean like what they told us about our

topic?

TB: Like your topic or anything in class [Josefina: in general] in general.

Chika: Because in class we really never ever talked [Josefina: We hadn’t—] No

group has ever talked about—has ever really talked about their topic [Josefina: In

class]. They [the teachers] just tell us where we can find information

Josefina: And we have to do it ourselves

After Josefina talked about doing the work for themselves, Chika explained that the teachers “never give us feedback about whether we’re wrong or right.” Chika continued:

They’ll just tell us “oh well some things were in your PowerPoint didn’t make

sense” but they don’t tell us “oh well you know this part here is wrong and I—did

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you know that?” or they’ll be like “did you know that this website has like this

information?”

Then I asked a follow-up question, “So would you have liked to have more feedback?”

Josefina and Chika both responded:

Josefina: I would say no, because the way we did it—It was fun going out and

finding it for ourselves. Actually, seeing the victims actually helping feeding

[Catalia: interviewing] yeah, interviewing them actually playing the games, I say

it really helped us out and helped us think differently as kids because them people

they really don’t have nothing. They don’t have food now. They really don’t have

family. So…it really changed the way I thought like, and like spoken and like

thought about—my thinking process actually because they way they’re like—the

situation they’re in, like ‘oh my situation is not like that.’ So you look at it very

differently and actually helps make—it help makes you a little more humble—

that could be me one day. I could just wake up, go walk to my bus stop and

something like that can happen [TB: right] so you just never know

Chika: I think I’m the kinda person that likes challenges so I like to be challenged.

I like to do work when they depend on me…like the teachers—they depend on us

to figure out the information for ourselves. Some students be like “oh well yeah,

but they should still give us some information cause they’re the teachers and

whatever.” They should but not feed us [Josefina: baby us] yes, like give us

where we can find the information [Josefina: what’s the name of it?] Give us tips,

ideas, give us support—

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Josefina: And that’s all we needed. We needed their information that [we didn’t

even] had. We took the extreme and went—

Chika: Like you. We appreciate you not giving us information but [Josefina: you

took us] [TB: Aw thanks] support [girls start clapping] (Group Reflection Human

Trafficking, 181-215)

Chika and Josefina engaged in the project because the adults (teachers and me) did not “feed” or “baby” them. Josefina admits that she enjoyed “going out and finding” the information because it helped her think differently about herself and the realities of human sex trafficking. The girls invested time in the project because they realized that they were solely responsible for completing all portions of the Capstone project, which included collecting the information, creating presentations, organizing social justice experiences in the community, and designing a final art piece. This suggests that social justice work thrives when students feel challenged and supported, as noted in Chika’s comment. By providing students with the guidelines and raising questions (rather than direct critiques) during their “Explain” presentations, the Humanities teachers gave students the space to be independent and creative thinkers. Through the Project, the girls began to experiment with innovative and accessible approaches to activism.

“We Might Be Able to Help”: Accessible Activism

Students developed the project because they felt social justice work, at least in the context of the Capstone projects, was accessible and safe. For example, the girls did not see themselves as artistic and “not into art-art” (Chika); however, when provided the materials, the girls artistically articulated their message about human sex trafficking. In an effort to understand why girls who were “not into art-art” chose to make a large visual

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art piece, I asked the girls why they did not rely on their other talents for the Capstone.

At the beginning of the interview, the girls introduced themselves by saying their self- assigned pseudonym, age, grade level, and an interesting fact I should know. Each of the girls shared that they either danced or played a sport or an instrument. Therefore, when they began to talk about not being artistic, I interjected, “so thinking about that fact that all of you do something different [dance and play instruments], but you decided to do a painting.” Josefina chimed in, “I think that was very good,” followed by Chika, who admitted that she has “always wanted to do a sculpture [Josefina: yes] the plaster [TB: I like the plaster] The plaster was amazing.” After the girls and I exchanged our plastering war stories (i.e., plaster sticking to our arms and ripping off arm hairs), Josefina offered her reason for making a large art piece instead of choreographing a dance:

I think it was actually cool. Like even me, I like to paint and sculpt and stuff, but I

never put it on a real live … sculpture made into something big. It felt really

good to have something I did.

Chika: When [Mrs. Prince] showed us our poster, we were like “no.”

TB: I haven’t even seen it. [Catalia: You haven’t?!] I can’t wait to see it.

Chika: When she showed us our poster, the first poster we were like “no, we don’t

want that. That is not what we had in mind” [Catalia: It was too small] It was like

small and we were like “we need it to be like…extra big” (Group Reflection

Human Trafficking, 271-286)

The girls’ decision to abandon their usual talents speaks to the overarching theme of embodied consciousness and to the sub-theme of reciprocal engagement. Josefina,

Chika and Catalia expressed that they enjoyed making the plaster hands because it was

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something they always wanted to do, but it was something they had never done.

Therefore, the Capstone Project was an opportunity to experiment. In the previous exchange, the girls made two conscious decisions that speak to reciprocal engagement:

(1) They chose to use their bodies (plaster casts of their hands) to depict the complexities of human sex trafficking, and (2) they chose to use a large canvas to depict the grand scale of human sex trafficking.

The story behind the plaster hands began weeks after Josefina drew the initial sketch of the hands on a sheet of loose-leaf paper. Once the students organized into their

Capstone groups, Mr. Logan and Mrs. Prince distributed a grant proposal form to each group of students (Appendix C). Each group had to submit a grant proposal to the

Humanities teachers requesting art supplies, props, or other materials they might need to create their final art piece. The girls were huddled around a table in the middle of the classroom brainstorming and completing their form. Once I overheard them talking about drawing large hands, I pulled up a chair and listened to their ideas. They were stumped on what types of materials to request for the proposed art piece. A few times, I suggested getting mannequin hands and attaching them to the board. Mrs. Prince was approaching our table just as I offered the mannequin hands suggestion for the third time.

“Why not make the hands?” Mrs. Prince shrugged, smirked and looked up into the ceiling. The art educator in Mrs. Prince started to shine through, and one of the girls asked, “With what?”

In May, all of the girls and I met in Mrs. Prince’s classroom afterschool. Tay pulled back a plaster cast from her right arm and Catalia was preparing another student’s arm for plaster casting. The afternoon was marked with the girls slathering on Vaseline,

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carefully placing wet plaster strips along forearms and fingers, waiting for the plaster to dry, peeling back and admiring the cast, then redoing the process. During the afterschool session, Mrs. Prince did not leave the room and she did not hover over any of the students working in her classroom. Instead, she offered suggestions, directions, and her time as needed. The next morning, during the Humanities class, the girls returned to Mrs.

Prince’s room, where they began to paint the collection of dried plaster arms.

Over the course of three months, the group engaged in a sophisticated form of activism—creating an artistic youth activist narrative—because the resources (i.e., instruction, art supplies, classroom, and time) were accessible. I define activism as

“doing social justice work”, or unmasking inequities, challenging injustice, and dismantling oppression. Since I observed the girls engaging in all three acts in order to create “Stories Behind Their Hands,” I position the act of creating the artwork as activism and the artwork as a youth activist narrative, or a story about injustice, inequality, and/or inequities that co-constructed and made public by young people to incite social change.

It captures the injustice of exploiting bodies of marginalized people (i.e, young, poor, people of color) for financial gain locally and globally. In order to create the artwork, the girls re-presented selected information from interviews, Internet research, and class conversations as multiracial plaster hands attached to a large piece of plywood they painted black. In creating “Stories Behind Their Hands,” the girls served as activists who amplified the voices of survivors, individuals being trafficked, as well as individuals who died in sex trafficking. The piece was constructed to inform the audience of their close proximity to trafficking (i.e., anyone can be a victim and perpetrator) and motivate them to get involved in stopping the injustice. Since the city of Poinsette and the state are

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ranked high on the list of places where human sex trafficking occurs in America, the girls recognize that they are at risk of being trafficked. Therefore, by getting involved in and asking others to join the fight, they also became activists for themselves.

The girls engaged in social justice work inside the classroom because they felt safe and believed that their voices would be heard in a safe venue. The girls began to express a new level of commitment to their work against human sex trafficking that would extend beyond the Capstone Project, as demonstrated in the following exchange:

TB: Do you think that you all will continue this project since you have to pick

something for the next four years…do you think that you will continue to do stuff

on human sex trafficking?

Group: Yes.

Josefina: I’d say yes.

Chika: I definitely will [Catalia: We’re not changing]. Next year, we’re—

[Josefina: That’s too difficult] my sister is with the group “Stories Behind their

Eyes” and like they have like different schools to have like club I guess. So me

and my sister are gonna be the founders of that for [Justice High] next year.

TB: Cool.

Josefina: I wouldn’t change mine because it’s grown. We’ve worked so hard on it

to start so it wouldn’t make no sense to stop and then start on a new project. I

think if we keep going we might help somebody or like we might make a big

difference as we’re growing. As we grow, we’ll probably start like t-shirts and

stuff and fundraisers to actually help the victims in that scenario so I think that

it’ll be good for us to keep going.

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TB: Good, what about you? [nods at Catalia]

Catalia: Um we wouldn’t change it now. We got more involved in it. We think

it’s more interesting and we’ve learned a whole bunch (Group Reflection Human

Trafficking, 32-48)

My question stemmed from conversations I had with Mr. Logan. During his planning periods and upon completion of my field notes (or reflective notes) on the

Humanities class, Mr. Logan and I would discuss the Social Justice Capstone Projects.

He shared that the students created capstone projects each year for his history classes and for Mrs. Munroe’s English class. Therefore, the students are encouraged to keep their social justice issue, take on a new perspective, and expand the project each year of high school. For example, as juniors, Catalia, Chika, Josefina, and Tay would take Mr.

Logan’s “Globalization/Global Issues” class, where they would think about their social justice issue on a global scale, such as trafficking in Uganda or India. The girls’ expressed investment and desire to broaden their involvement speak to the potential outcomes of young people writing youth activist narratives. In her discussion of activists’ autobiographical texts, Perkins (2000) highlights the ways in which

“marginalized groups have recognized historically the importance of literacy” and as a result “writing is the primary means by which a public voice—a voice capable of being heard beyond one’s immediate community—is acquired” (p.27). Therefore, by using art to create their Capstone Project, or write youth activist narratives to end human sex trafficking, the four girls acquired a public voice, or at least a desire to acquire a public voice.

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Since Chika worked closely with “Stories Behind Their Eyes” for the Capstone, she would like to partner with her sister and “be the founders” of a similar service- learning initiative at Justice High. Josefina also recognized a need to raise awareness and would like to “start…t-shirts…and fundraisers.” Catalia is invested in continuing to learn more. The year following the human sex trafficking Social Justice Capstone and my data collect for this dissertation study, I stopped into the cafeteria during the sophomore lunch period. Catalia and Tay spotted me from across the room. We chatted briefly before she went to the lunch line and I asked about Chika and Josefina. Catalia informed me that

Chika does “debate team or something on Tuesdays and Thursdays.” Unfortunately, she also informed me that Josefina transferred schools. As one of the more vocal group members, it is my hope that Josefina continues to raise awareness about human sex trafficking with her former group mates and/or with other emerging young activists at her new school.

Although their reflections highlight factors, such as accessibility to resources, support from teachers, and the freedom to inquire into human sex trafficking, that inform their social justice work, the girls also reveal why they do not engage in certain activist practices. They identify and speak at length about “risk” as a reason why they do not consider themselves to be “full-grown” activists taking it to the “extreme” against human sex trafficking. Since I am positioning the girls’ work as “youth activist narratives,” I asked the students if they saw themselves as activists:

TB: So thinking about what you all have done, one of the things my research

looks at is activists. So you consider, so A—do you know what that means?

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Chika: No. [Catalia whispers: Noo.] Activist? So would that be someone who is

active in a way or a situation?

Josefina: No.

When I realized that the girls were unfamiliar with the term, I attempted to connect it to a character in Persepolis, one of the graphic novels they read in their Humanities class.

TB: So for example, what would you call Marjie from Persepolis?

Catalia: Um she’s—

Chika: Rebelist. Is that a word?

TB: She what?

Catalia: She stands out.

Josefina: Go-getter.

Chika: Is a rebelist a word?

TB: I think rebel is a word

Chika: Well you know an actionist, a rebelist…it makes sense (Group Reflection

Human Trafficking, 123-139)

By thinking about the main character in Persepolis, Marjorie Satrapi (Marjie), who depicts herself as a rebellious young woman growing up during the Iranian Revolution, the girls try to understand how to name the actions taken by someone—real or imagined—that might relate to “go-getter”, “rebelist”, or “actionist.” Throughout the conversation, I wanted to position their Capstone as “activist” work and place it in a longstanding trajectory of women of color fighting against social injustice and oppressive structures. However, I listened as the three girls pushed me to think about how they name the work they do Capstone and how they name themselves, which allowed me to

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ask the question, “so in thinking about what she does, do you all see yourself kinda like

Marjie?” Josefina responded, “I say yes, but no [Catalia: yeah] cause what Marjie’s doing, she’s doing the same thing, but she’s not—it’s different.” The conversation continued:

Chika: She’s taking it to the extreme [Josefina: and we’re not] We’re not going

around like [yells] “hey everybody be careful because people in your

backyard”…or anything like that. She really is “Well if I wanna dress like this,

then I’m gonna dress like this” “If I wanna buy these illegal um CDs, I’m gonna

buy them” And it’s not like—

Josefina: She likes to go out to them situations. And like us, we can’t do that

because it’s bigger than us, it’s not just us three, it’s worldwide. We can’t take

on—we can only take on certain small pieces because we try to take on attack it

worldwide we might get ourselves into something we don’t want to. So we have

to take small—

Chika: Probably here at school we could do it, but outside of school, I don’t plan

on going walking around the streets and be like “you know there’s human

traffickers around here, you be careful”—what if no one hears me?

Josefina: If it gets to that point…when I get older probably, but right now, no

because I’m still young myself and I’m still learning about this awareness. No, I

really wouldn’t say. [Catalia: be precautious] Yeah, be precautious…I don’t want

to get myself into a predicament like that so I have to take it on like piece at a

time.

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Chika: And then not only are we putting ourselves in risk, we’re also putting the

victims in risk like we don’t know how the traffickers might react to our like

revolution or rebellion against them (Group Reflection Human Trafficking, 140-

158)

I did not interrupt the girls’ dialogue as they articulated what they saw as the boundaries of publicly engaging in social justice work. Though they recognized that the issue of human sex trafficking was larger than the three of them, they admitted that the

Social Justice Capstone Project allowed them to “take on certain small pieces” (Josefina,

Group Reflection Human Trafficking). The girls pushed me to think about the challenge of youth activism, in that when young people bring attention to injustices, they are putting themselves on the front lines as well. Since they associate, the term “activist” with adults or people who take more “extreme” actions, the term “activist” might be too large for them to align with. Therefore, the girls may see “actionist” as more manageable for them at their age. Unlike Marjie, who “likes to go out to them situations”, the girls are not yet comfortable with participating in protests or other activist practices that might draw attention to themselves. Therefore, they stressed the importance of avoiding

“predicaments” and being safe in order to do social justice work. For example, they are comfortable with raising awareness on school grounds, creating artwork, and visiting community organizations, especially with trustworthy liaisons (i.e., Chika’s sister and me). The girls position these practices as non-confrontational and safe. Through the lens of critical multiculturalism, I see their practices as activist work, or a theoretical

“revolution” not just against human sex trafficking, but also against the pervasive narratives that position young people as politically inept (Ginwright & Cammarota, 2006;

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Ross, 2011; Tuck & Yang, 2011). In reflecting on their narrative writing process, which involved researching human sex trafficking, interviewing survivors and community members, and artistically representing their understanding of the social injustice, the girls fulfilled the requirements of the Social Justice Capstone Project within a viable and transformative classroom space that encouraged youth activism.

Narratives of Mutuality: “We are becoming somebody”

As the group reflection interview came to a close, I asked the girls to make connections between the class and the Social Justice Capstone Project. In the moment, I was interested in hearing how they drew connections between their project, class reading assignments, and/or class discussions about bystanders. Instead, Chika offered this response: [Humanities class is] “a lot of work but we’re learning…and we are becoming somebody right now” (Group Reflection Human Trafficking, 235-237). Her testament,

“we are becoming”, echoes Perkins’ (2000) assertion that “activists are able to demonstrate the move toward revolutionary consciousness as foremost a process… revolutionaries are not so much born as made” (p.43). By engaging in social justice work within the classroom, young people, much like Chika, may begin to recognize the transformational nature of social justice work and youth activism, especially activism that emerges from young people’s interests. Her statement also makes me think back to earlier in the school year when I was unsure about what I would learn about youth and social justice from the Capstone Projects. Since the Capstone Projects were rarely discussed in the class, I decided to stop scrambling for data. Instead, I often just enjoyed being a student in the Humanities class. Here was one of those moments:

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Mrs. Prince is teaching about creating visual plot. A list of words (see below) is written on the white board, next to a sketch of a spiral notebook—illustrating how the next two pages of each student’s Humanities notebook should be arranged.

Strength Survival

Love Trust

Identity Dehumanization

Transformation Hope/Faith

Mr. Logan and Mrs. Munroe give each student Xeroxed images of woodcut panels from a graphic novel. The students are tasked with choosing a topic from the list and creating a visual story. I created a story about transformation after thinking about

Clandinin and Connelly’s (2000) concept of sharing stories with research participants and the importance of engaging in collaborative work. How can I expect participants to share if they do not see me engaging in or valuing the work they do within the classroom? I’m sad that I won’t be able to attend class tomorrow to hear the stories that students created from their wordless woodcut panels…how might they envision “survival”,

“transformation”, “strength” or “identity”? (Researcher Journal, 12/3/12)

For the activity, my story about “transformation” featured a character living in a land where people were constantly under surveillance and persecuted. After reading theories of great scholars (in this case, from the Enlightenment era), the character begins to see society differently and demands justice and equity. My visual plot was not just about some random character in a far off land. At the time, I did not realize I was writing a story about Catalia, Chika, Josefina, Tay, and me. By unpacking the complex nature of the girls’ youth activist narratives and the nuances of the narrative writing process, I

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attempted to capture how we worked to demand justice and equity in schools and communities.

When I wrote the journal entry over a year ago, little did I know that I would not need to see the plot the girls created in their Humanities’ notebooks. Instead, I simply needed to revisit the transcripts, recorded class discussions, PowerPoint slides, artwork and other artifacts to see and hear how they might “envision ‘survival’, ‘transformation’,

‘strength’ or ‘identity.’” Critical narrative inquiry allowed me to “[draw] on multiple sources of ethnographic data, [employ] research as a tool for justice, and [use] stories to represent the data, lives, activities, and aspirations of the research” (Rivera Maulucci,

2010, p.844). Therefore, I used both critical narrative inquiry and thematic analysis, informed by a critical multicultural lens, to make sense of how students created youth activist narratives using various experiences within and engagements beyond the

Humanities classroom at Justice High.

Students created complex stories that reflected high levels of investment, involvement and community engagement. In order to provide a multilayered narrative about human sex trafficking, the girls drew information from multiple types of texts.

Critical literacies scholars (Kinloch, 2009, 2010a; Kirkland, 2009; Lankshear &

McLaren, 1993) “situate texts not just as print-based but as all things with meaning.

Thus, texts can be audio, visual, gestural, spatial, and body, in addition to print” (Norton,

2005, p.119). Therefore, the girls drew information about the injustice from meaningful engagements, such as speaking with survivors (audio, spatial, body), Internet research

(audio, visual, print), and dialogues with community organizers (audio, spatial, body).

As a result, their Capstone speaks directly to the calls of critical multiculturalists

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(Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997; Sleeter & McLaren, 1995), who challenge educators to blur the line between classroom and community in order to create projects that are sustaining, relevant and rigorous. Such projects are inquiry based, rely upon multiple perspectives, and are critical because they bring attention to issues of power and oppression. The girls’ narrative and narrative writing process are critical in that the girls demonstrated sophisticated abilities to contribute to a global conversation about the injustice of human sex trafficking. For example, they reappropriated the way hands were used in sex trafficking awareness. Without depicting hands in physical bondage, the girls were still able to tell stories that emphasized: survival, resilience, trauma, abuse, deception, the local-global nature of injustice, and the reality that anyone could be a perpetrator, bystander, or victim.

Catalia, Chika, Josefina, and Tay selected community engagement opportunities

(e.g., The Alliance and Stories Behind Their Eyes) that were accessible and safe. Since most of their information about survivors came from interviews conducted at local organizations, the girls’ narrative writing process relied upon reciprocal relationships. In order to interview Ms. Jeter, the girls and I traveled to The Alliance and participated in a service project. Although they conducted an interview with Ms. Jeter, her information, not her photo, was included in the presentation. Also, the students (mostly Chika) continuously mentioned the service-learning program, “Stories Behind Their Eyes.”

Since Chika’s sister is a Mexican American female high school student who is involved with the program, the girls (all high school girls of color) see “Stories Behind Their

Eyes” as an accessible and safe activist space for the group. This is important to note because research on youth activism (Gordon, 2007) highlights how race, gender, and age

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can often constrain the activist practices and levels of involvement for young girls of color. The girls’ involvement suggests that young girls of color are more likely to get involved, or engage in activism, when they have a liaison that can help them negotiate their entry into community spaces.

Before the girls engaged in “accessible” activist practices, they selected the topic based on their curiosity. According to Josefina, once the group began “doing research we actually found out it’s right there in front of our eyes but in different ways it’s not just one typical type way it’s more than one so I think it really open my eyes now to situations and the way people are so it kinda helped to see them the types of ways of people in different scenarios” (Group Reflection Human Trafficking, 55-58). As the girls learned more about their topic, they began to develop a critical lens that called for multiple perspectives. Gergen and Gergen (2000) assert, “When one embraces a new narrative, it is held, one’s course of action can and will change accordingly…At the outset, there is no adequate explanation of how a narrative structure can dictate action, and particularly as conditions of action are constantly in motion” (p. 119). Therefore, the girls changed their

“course of action” as they began to make sense of the semi-public narrative about human sex trafficking. They became more motivated to “focus on that awareness” (Josefina,

Group Reflection Human Trafficking, 29). As a result, the various experiences culminated into a large scale, three-dimensional art piece that depicted their understanding of victims, survivors, bystanders, and perpetrators.

Catalia, Chika, Josefina, and Tay helped me see how social justice work that gives students the creative freedom to make sense of and speak against oppression can be transformative for participants (i.e., students, teachers, researchers, and community

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members). The girls’ narrative illustrates how young people make sense of the world in which they live and attempt to enter the conversations with adults about oppression, power, and injustice, the same conversations that some adults excluded them from because they were “too young” to participate. By entering the conversation around human sex trafficking, the girls demonstrate how young people can bear witness, participate in reciprocal engagements, challenge invisibility, and construct windows and mirrors for social justice. Therefore, the themes emerging from this dissertation study are not abstract concepts; instead, they are the intentional actions of the four civic actors who speak back and speak out against injustice. As the girls spoke out against human sex trafficking, they also spoke back to the “matrix of oppression” (Baca Zinn & Dill, 1996;

Collins, 1990) that often leaves women, especially young girls and women of color, on the margins of social change. Their narrative and narrative writing process echo the work of Gergen and Gergen (2006), who assert, “there is something particularly effective about listening to others’ narratives that crosses boundaries of meaning and brings people into a state of mutuality” (p.117).

As a researcher, I have learned a great deal about human sex trafficking and also about the “re” (again) nature of activism and research on activism. By listening and re- listening to what the girls were saying during interviews, planning sessions, and presentations, my dissertation study transformed. Originally, I entered the classroom seeking a process of reflection that some students were not ready to articulate because either no one had asked or because they did not know how to begin. I was asking students to emulate the process I read in the autobiographies of female activists I continue to respect, such as Assata Shakur and Septima Clark. What I had failed to take into

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account was that, as an adult, Assata reflected upon and wrote about her 14-year-old self.

In other words, most of these women, who Margo Perkins (2000) calls “activist-writers”

(p.24), took years to make sense of the experiences that undergirded their activism and informed their passion for social change. Perkins (2000) argues that Black female activists used their Autobiography as Activism, which is the title of her book. She asserts:

Activists use life-writing to re-create themselves as well as the era they recount.

Many things are at stake for them in this process. These things include control of

the historical record, control over their own public images, and control over how

the resistance movement in which they are involved is defined and portrayed

(xiii).

Septima Clark (1962), Assata Shakur (1989), and Angela Davis (1974) and other women did not begin demanding equity, citizenship, and justice by writing about their lives. Instead, their autobiographies served as extensions to their grassroots, on-the- ground work in schools in South Carolina, the streets of New York and Los Angeles, and the prison industrial complex across the United States. Septima Clark, Angela Davis, and

Assata Shakur’s autobiographies give readers insight into how teaching, reading, learning, speaking, and witnessing are valid forms of activism. Their writings dismantle dominating narratives about activism that have often excluded or negated the actions of youth and women of color in fights for employment, equitable pay, justice, educational equity, affordable housing, and citizenship (Perkins, 2000; Sartain, 2007). Their autobiographical texts and those of additional female activist writers push me to think about larger questions addressing the boundaries of social justice work, such as: Who gets to participate in social justice work, or who gets to be an activist? Which practices

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are frequently discussed in activist scholarship as valid forms of activism? Who/what determines the criteria for activism?

Through this critical narrative inquiry, the girls and I challenge the boundaries of social justice work. According to Phillion and He (2010), narrative inquirers must “think about experience narratively”, which would allow us to “create new ways to think about, talk about, and write about our inquiries, our lives, and the lives of our participants”

(p.255). By teaching, reading, learning, speaking, and witnessing, the girls take up the same practices to create their Capstone Project as their activist predecessors, or Black and brown female activists from the twentieth century. In this dissertation study, I “think about, talk about, and write about” Tay, Catalia, Josefina and Chika as new branches in the genealogy of youth and women of color activists. In listening and watching them, I begin to understand how the narrative writing process “brings people into a state of mutuality” (Gergen & Gergen, 2006, p.117). As girls raising awareness about human sex trafficking, as a researcher (me) bringing to light youth activism, and as historical women

(Clark, Davis, Shakur) embedding social inequities in their autobiographies, we are women of color collectively engaging in the critical work of social justice.

As I revisit historical narratives alongside the girls’ Social Justice Capstone

Project and interdisciplinary scholarship (Collier & Franklin, 2001; Payne & Green,

2003; Robnett, 1997; Springer, 1999) about activism, I begin to see an evolving, yet unspoken, rubric that would promote social justice work in activism and in scholarship about activism. Future research, activist scholarship, community organizing, and additional efforts would be shaped by the following questions: In what ways might future research and engagements include marginalized voices (i.e., youth, women, women/youth

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of color)? How might future research and engagements position understudied practices

(i.e., teaching, fundraising, speaking) as valid acts of social justice work? How might future research and engagements connect contemporary practices and/or efforts to those of activist predecessors? In the final chapter, I address these questions and offer implications for educational research, youth activism, community engagement, and teacher education. I also begin to articulate the limitations of and future directions for this work.

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Chapter 5

Restory-ing, Youth Activist Narratives, and Activism: Implications

In this chapter, I discuss some of the theoretical, methodological, and praxis- oriented implications that emerged from this dissertation study about the girls’ restory- ing process. I build upon Kinloch and San Pedro’s (2013) concept of story-ing, which they define as “A place…where the convergence of theory and method, and theory and practice, intersect to push us to listen to the questions we raise and vignettes we offer as we move toward Projects in Humanization” (p.22). Throughout the previous chapter

(Chapter 4), I explored how students created spaces to “re-story,” or to collaboratively listen to, deconstruct, and use texts (i.e., images, data, their personal experiences, and the experiences of others) in order to promote social justice. I intentionally use the prefix

“re” as a way to think about the “analyze and use again” nature of the students’ social justice projects.

Within and beyond the data presented in this dissertation study are possibilities to think about the theoretical, methodological, and practical implications of restory-ing in ways that support how people interact with, teach, learn from and with, and talk about and to youth. Theoretically, this dissertation study offers ways to utilize critical multiculturalism as a useful lens by which to question and understand the purposes of education. Methodologically, I assert that critical narrative inquiry can be positioned as both a youth and activist methodology that can be used as an analytic tool for research

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conducted with, for, and by youth. In fact, I believe that this methodological orientation can help researchers, community members, and young people develop a more nuanced understanding of youth identities, decision-making processes, and activism. Insofar as the praxis-oriented implications of this dissertation study are concerned, I highlight the interdependent relationship between classrooms and communities as a way to propose that spaces in K-20 and teacher education be created that support sustainable classroom- community partnerships. Then, I return to the research questions that guide this dissertation study: How do students create youth activist narratives using social justice experiences? What do students’ reflections about the narrative writing process reveal about why they engage in social justice work? Doing so allows me to conclude this chapter by: (1) Offering additional insights into what students’ narratives reveal about social justice and how these narratives can influence classroom and community engagements; and (2) Providing a brief discussion of future research directions that could explore the complexities of youth social justice work.

Theoretical: Thinking deeply and differently about Critical Multiculturalism

During our reflection conversation, I asked the girls if they considered themselves to be activists. After debating what the term meant, the girls slowly began to embrace the term and decided that they might be activists. They also began to rationalize the reasons they might be activists (e.g., because they fought for what they believed in; because they fought for other people’s freedom; because they sought to raise awareness about a topic of importance to them). When I asked if they would continue to raise awareness about human sex trafficking, Chika responded:

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Probably here at school we could do it, but outside of school, I don’t plan on going

walking around the streets and be like “you know there’s human traffickers around

here you be careful”—what if no one hears me? (Group Reflection Human

Trafficking, 149-151)

Chika’s closing question—“what if no one hears me?”—resonated with me weeks after the interview and again as I began to write this final chapter. Her concern about not being heard reminds me of Moje’s (2002) question, “But where are the youth?”, which is the title of her article about literacy research and the ways young people get positioned in educational research, teaching, and popular culture. First, to answer Moje’s question, I insist that youth are already present. In fact, the youth are speaking. Because they are both present and speaking, it is imperative that the perspectives of Chika and her classmates (as well as other young people) are taken into serious consideration in discussions about youth, literacy, and learning. My dissertation research was part of a larger effort to bring youth social justice work to the attention of teachers, researchers, community members, and educators in ways that position young people to assume agentive stances in schools and communities. Through this research, I began to scratch the surface of learning from young people about how they engage in the “complex literacy process and practices” (Moje, 2002, p.120) of restory-ing. By collecting, analyzing, and re-presenting stories and data, I noticed how the girls created youth activist narratives to raise awareness about human sex trafficking. As they raised awareness, I sought to amplify their voices—that is, the voices of young people who are coming to see themselves as change agents as they learn about power, oppression, and activism. 205

Second, in her closing discussion about the absence of youth from literacy research, Moje (2000) asserts that the field “is missing a prime opportunity to learn not only about youth literacy but also from youth as they teach us about how complex literacy processes and practices develop and change in multiple contexts, times, and spaces” (p.120). Such research in literacy studies has larger implications for how we

(adults, community members, educators, and researchers) understand, engage, teach, and learn with youth. Moje’s point is also applicable to research in multicultural education, especially research that uses critical multiculturalism as a lens to understand learning in diverse educational contexts. As a theoretical framework that emerged from communities of color demanding educational equity (Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997; May

& Sleeter, 2010; Sleeter & McLaren, 1995), critical multiculturalism is attentive to difference, diversity, and issues of power as these relate to education. However, I argue that the framework has not as been attentive to the marginalization of youth and contemporary forms of activism.

The primary purpose of critical multiculturalism as a theoretical framework was to develop an “anti-oppressive education” (Kumashiro, 2000) that positively changes students and society. An anti-oppressive education began in teacher education programs where predominately middle-class White female pre-service teacher education candidates engaged in reflexive work that prepared them to teach in communities different from their own (i.e., linguistically, ethnically, and racially diverse). In teacher education programs, pre-service teacher education candidates would have explicit conversations about racism, sexism, homophobia, gender bias, and other forms of oppression that depicted difference as explanations for deficit rather than as identities for rich learning.

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Once teacher education candidates recognize their own privileges and determined specific ways their privileges have sustained oppression, they can begin to create classrooms, curricula, and spaces for engagement that generate dialogue, inquiry, and learning. In these spaces, students and teachers can “co-construct” knowledge, or, as

Banks (1996) writes, better understand “the way a person explains or interprets reality”

(p.5). Ironically, many teacher education programs that are loosely informed by the theoretical framework of critical multiculturalism rarely attend to ageism as a form of oppression. Thus, this failure to attend to ageism continues to de-position and marginalize young people and their critical, activist stances in education.

De-marginalizing youth: Young people involved in co-constructing knowledge

As a result of the ongoing marginalization of youth in educational research and in countless classrooms, critical multiculturalism and its programs are not fully attentive to the ways that young people continue to be excluded from co-constructing knowledge alongside teachers, researchers, and community groups. If creating “transformative, action-oriented curriculum” that links “knowledge, social commitment, and action”

(Banks, 1996, p.5) is central to critical multiculturalism, then more research should begin to focus on how young people are involved in this process. This dissertation highlights how young people challenge power dynamics around social justice work by engaging in explicit conversations about the links among power, injustice, and oppression. According to Banks (1996), “Transformative academic scholars assume that knowledge is not neutral but is influenced by human interests, that all knowledge reflects the power and social relationships within society, and that an important purpose of knowledge construction is to help people improve society” (p.16). Banks’ sentiments lead me to

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conclude that young people should be centrally involved in the knowledge construction process. In this dissertation, I documented how the girls co-constructed knowledge about human sex trafficking in hopes of bringing an end to this injustice. The girls co- constructed knowledge through restory-ing—researching, organizing, and re-presenting information. Restory-ing, when informed by critical multiculturalism (Banks, 1996;

Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997; Kumashiro, 2000; May & Sleeter, 2010), becomes a transformative act in that it provides a new lens to see and understand the complex nature of social, political, economic, educational, and/or racial injustices. Through their process of restory-ing, the girls (like many other young people) are directly involved in co- constructing knowledge and, thus, become collaborators, liaisons, researchers, teachers, learners, storytellers, and consequently, activists.

Challenging ageism and the archaic: Contemporary nature of activism

Using critical multiculturalism to see young people as activists has two additional implications for activism: disrupting ageism in activism and no longer seeing activism as archaic. In her research on youth activism, Gordon (2007, 2008) discusses ageism and gender bias as two major factors that hinder youth participation in social justice work.

Research in New Social Movements (Croteau, Hoynes, & Ryan, 2005; Glass, 2009; Hunt

& Benford, 1994) that focus on human rights, for instance, rarely addresses youth participation in social movements. Data from the girls’ projects demonstrated that young people do engage in social justice work and do receive the necessary support, guidance, and freedom from their teachers and peer groups. The girls received guidance from teachers and other adults who trusted their ideas, supported their interests, and offered guidance all throughout the research process. The teachers and other adults neither

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rejected the girls’ ideas nor scolded their missteps. Because they were viewed as young, dedicated social justice workers rather than as expert project makers, the girls were able to craft sophisticated youth activist narratives. In this way, I believe critical multiculturalism supports the creation of spaces for both adults and young people to contemplate the important ways that youth can and should be included in the act of co- constructing knowledge as they also challenge oppression and seek to transform society.

Currently, in American K-20 classrooms, many students are introduced to the historical stories about young people engaged in activism. Historians (Levinson, 2013;

Marshall, 2013; McGuire, 2011) continue to unearth narratives about youth activism, and in this way, activism becomes historicized—activism is something that people did back then, and that we currently study. However, this dissertation research attempts to mobilize and reinvigorate activism in our collective conscious. By discussing what young people are doing in a twenty-first century classroom and local community, I am pushing forward the discussion of youth activism as I attempt to shake it free from the isolated depictions of youth activism (especially in communities of color in America) as something that only occurred during the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s.

Methodological: Critical Narrative Inquiry as a Way to See Complexities

While this dissertation study begins to demonstrate the vitality of critical multiculturalism, especially as a theoretical framework to understand the intricacies of youth activism, it also offers similar methodological implications. Critical narrative inquiry (Rivera-Maulucci, 2010a, 2010b; Norton, 2005, 2006, 2008) could be used as a tool to document, analyze, and understand youth activism. Unlike other methodological approaches (e.g., youth participatory action research; participatory action research) that

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focus on what youth are doing, critical narrative inquiry can become a “more youth- centered research methodology” (Appleman, 2003; Valentine, Skelton, & Chambers,

1998) inform future work on the how and why young people engage in and take action.

As a result, this methodology begins to reveal the complexities of social justice work including engaging in explicit cross-generational conversations about oppression, negotiating with youth about how to respond to injustices, or gaining access to resources in order to promote activism. Future research could employ this methodology to understand what motivates young people to engage in social justice work and/or to document how young people take up activist work inside and outside schools. For example, in this dissertation study, the girls identified risk as an issue that prevented them from raising awareness about human sex trafficking in their out-of-school communities.

The girls help others (teachers, community members, scholars) to understand that activism is “risky” not only for the allies and advocates, but also for those victimized by the injustice—in this case of human sex trafficking. Therefore, future research could explore risk (see Vasudevan & Campano, 2009) and other concerns that prevent young people from engaging in activism.

Critical Narrative Inquiry to shift the conversation about “risk” and “youth”

Since the girls identified risk as a major factor that could prevent them from identifying themselves as activists, this dissertation study serves as an example of how critical narrative inquiry could be used to reconceptualize the role of “risk” in activism.

For example, studies in sociology (Davis, 1999; Gilbert, 2005) discuss youth identities as malleable/shifting and their place in society as a place of pathology and mere existence.

Young people are frequently portrayed at great length as being susceptible to addiction,

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abuse, neglect, and violence (see Lesko, 1996, 2001). Over the course of engaging in this research and writing this dissertation, I bore witness to the murdering of young people across the globe by adults and their peers. Young people lost their lives in public shootings at schools, in movie theatres, and inside malls. Adults like George Zimmerman and Michael Dunn took the lives of Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis—two teenaged

African American males—as aggravated assault quickly resulted in broad-daylight homicides (Alvarez, 2014). The deaths of both Trayvon Martin and Jordan Davis made plain and public the “risks” that young people, particularly those of color, face.

Unfortunately, some scholarship (Davis, 1999; Gilbert, 2005; Siegel & Welsh, 2011) on youth and adolescent identities focuses on the “discourse of pathologization”, which positions young people as “immature learners deficient in a hierachized mind over body”

(Patel Stevens et. al, 2007, p.114). In other words, such scholarship portray young people as susceptible to dangers that they allegedly bring upon themselves through destructive decision-making and rebellious streaks.

Interestingly, little research exists on the risks and dangers of youth activism.

Although portraying activism as dangerous might be seen as counterproductive to the social justice agenda, this reality is important to understanding the complex nature of activist work. Also, while activism is risky, young people—as seen in this dissertation study—still engage in the work. This research entered a conversation among scholars

(Cammarota, 2011; Ginwright, 2010; Gordon, 2009; Kinloch, 2010a) who highlight how youth can make critically conscious decisions that begin to transform society. Therefore, future researchers could employ critical narrative inquiry to explore the risks that young people associate with activism and how those risks might impact youth activism. This

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research is important to combating negative depictions of young people as apolitical, passive consumers who are susceptible to self-destruction. Instead, such research would push our understanding of the complexities of youth identity construction and youth activism. Also, since the Humanities’ teachers in this dissertation study played such large roles in helping students think about activism, critical narrative inquiry could also be utilized to explore connections between activism and teacher identities. More specifically, critical narrative inquiry can support investigations into if and how teachers’ identities inform the ways in which their students engage in activism inside schools and communities.

Praxis: Interacting and Learning from and with Youth

This dissertation study pushes teachers, researchers, community groups, and others to think deeply about how we interact with young people. We must not only envision, but also create more spaces for young people to take ownership of their learning and make critical decisions about how to represent their learning (Ginwright, 2010;

Kinloch, 2011; Morrell, 2008). By taking ownership, young people decide how and what they would learn. By deciding how they represent their learning, young people dialogue with adults and their peers about the relevancy, impact, and innovativeness of their chosen topic(s). In witnessing and analyzing the girls’ restory-ing process, I came to understand the importance of dialogue in their collaborative activities. I highlight the following post-research experience that I documented in my researcher journal because it pushed me think about where the boundary lines are drawn around collaborating with youth:

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A year after the girls presented, “Stories Behind their Hands,” at Justice

High, I was accepted to present my research about their project and process at a

local conference. Instead of showing a video of the girls’ “Art in Action Night”

presentation, I invited the four of them to the conference where they could discuss

their Social Justice Capstone Project. Chika was the only student who accepted

my invitation. During our car ride across town, Chika and I talked more about her

life as a high school sophomore and her post-secondary plans than about her

group’s human sex trafficking project. She confessed early in the conversation

that she did not really remember much of the project. I felt slightly deflated

because I had envisioned a great presentation, where I spoke briefly about my

theoretical frame and methodology, and then engaged in an informal dialogue

with Chika about what she learned from the project. The presentation would then

conclude with a question and answer session with Chika and I engaging an

audience of intrigued graduate students.

After the 15-minute conference presentation, I asked Chika for her

feedback. “Did this make sense? How did I do?” She smiled and said, “You did

great, Ms. Butler. I didn’t know you had all of those pictures of us.” Although I

was relieved to receive her seal of approval, I was not sure if she was being

cordial or if she really did understand my analysis of their capstone project and

process. Chika’s response made me think deeply about “collaboration” and what

might it look like when working with youth (Researcher Journal, 2/7/2013).

Just as much as my car drive conversation with Chika pushed me think about the purpose of collaborating with youth, it also made me reflect on the long-lasting meaning and

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impact, if any, of such collaborations. I began to question: How do young people view collaborations? What do they get from collaborations? Are collaborations and collaborative activities important to them?

Youth Collaboration: Implications for K-12 and Teacher Education Classrooms

After conducting this dissertation research, I now believe that youth collaboration entails more than simply listing young people as co-authors or co-presenters, but intentionally including young people in the development of curriculum and the teaching of pedagogical approaches. Therefore, teachers and teacher educators should engage in research or in projects that rely on student feedback. Through interviews and surveys, students would be able to provide insight on the effectiveness of projects like the Social

Justice Capstone. Through this dissertation study, I learned about how four girls engaged in social justice work that was mediated by a required classroom project. However, the context and outcomes of the study provide insights into what is needed in order to foster similar projects that are committed to transformation and social justice. With this in mind, I turn to Meira Levinson (2012), who reflects on her work with students of color around civic participation and education. She states:

We can’t transform American society—which is what it would truly take to

empower my students from Walden—simply by transforming opportunities for

one kid at a time. Instead, I am convinced schools need to teach young people

knowledge and skills to upend and reshape power relationships directly through

public, political, and civic action, not just self-improvement (Levinson, 2012

p.13).

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Therefore, the final implications of this dissertation study take up and trouble Levinson’s call about what “schools need to teach.” While I agree that we need to move beyond educating for “self-improvement”, the reality is that teachers—and not “schools”—teach.

In order to teach “knowledge and skills to upend and reshape”, future teachers must first learn, develop, and refine their “knowledge and skills.” In other words, changes must be made in the way that teachers conceptualize and do teaching and learning at all institutional levels if we are to “transform American society”.

Critical Teacher Education: Community-Classroom Interdependency

Merging critical multiculturalism and teacher education is not only about the recruitment and retention of highly-qualified teacher education candidates who are ethnically, racially, and linguistically diverse into teacher education programs. Instead, teacher education programs that are theoretically informed by critical multiculturalism

(Kincheloe & Steinberg, 1997; May, 1999; May & Sleeter, 2010) should address sustainable systemic changes that emphasize the interdependent relationship between classrooms and communities. As a result, teacher education programs would develop more courses or spaces for engagement that does the following things: (a) Connect pre- service teacher education candidates to in-service teachers who are genuinely connected to the communities in which they teach (this could occur via student teaching dyads/triads of student teacher, mentor teacher, and/or community mentor); (b) Connect pre-service teacher education candidates to in-service teachers who are already creating spaces for student community engagements; and (c) Allow pre-service teacher education candidates to think deeply about youth activist narratives and activist narratives as text.

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By developing relationships within communities in their teacher education programs, pre-service teacher education candidates would begin to understand how the local community context is central to teaching and learning. As they move between theory and practice, future educators would be able to connect with community members, groups, and organizations not just to create “culturally relevant” (Ladson-Billings, 1995) or “culturally responsive” (Gay, 2000) classrooms that attend to who students are, but to also create “culturally sustaining” (Paris, 2012) spaces where young people engage in ways that attend to who they are becoming. Culturally sustaining spaces are created by critical teachers, fueled by students’ emerging interests, and maintained by students’ curiosity. The girls in this dissertation study selected human sex trafficking for their

Social Justice Capstone Project because the topic was interesting and something with which they were not familiar. The project emerged from a culturally sustaining space because it did not rely on the Humanities’ teachers or the classroom’s daily instruction to thrive. Instead, the girls’ community engagements moved the project to completion.

Their desire to learn more and create a sophisticated and unique art piece motivated them to consistently conduct online research and contact community members when they needed more information.

As highlighted in Chapter 4, the girls conducted multiple in-person interviews even when the project did not provide specific instructions about what qualified as

“engagement” or how many engagements were required to get a good grade. In these ways, my research question about what the girls’ narratives reveal about how they engage as civic actors through social justice projects point to many things: the girls’ commitment to critically explore a social justice issue; their desire to collaborate within and beyond

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the official boundaries of the classroom; their willingness to both co-construct knowledge and to conduct research in ways that enhanced what they knew about their selected topic; and their openness to examining what it means to be a youth activist.

What do culturally-sustaining spaces and the girls’ restory-ing process mean for teacher education? When pre-service teacher education candidates are partnered with in- service teachers who work closely with communities, they can begin to develop a concrete understanding of praxis (theory and practice). To understand the praxis of culturally sustaining spaces and pedagogy, pre-service teacher education candidates should also be immersed in the classroom where they would engage in conversations with students. Through conversations, they would hear how young people (may or may not) take ownership of their learning, as they become more apt to search outside the classroom for answers. Such immersion allows pre-service teacher education candidates opportunities to see students as teacher-learners (Freire, 1970). This also helps future teachers develop the lenses to see communities as classrooms, where learning happens through dialogue, engagement, and participation.

Centering Youth Activist Narratives as text in K-20 classrooms

In coming to see communities as classrooms, this research has implications for how educators can begin to transform K-20 classrooms. Courses in education, English,

Rhetoric and Composition, and interdisciplinary studies could be developed that focus on teaching, creating, and collecting youth activist narratives. By conceptualizing restory- ing as activism and activism as action, courses could position youth activist narratives as emerging texts. Scholars, students, and community members would work together to collect and/or document these narratives of young people engaging in social justice

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work—in and/or out of schools. In education courses, undergraduate and graduate students would learn how to teach youth activist narratives as texts by studying the actual collected narratives. The students would also learn how to teach by writing their own activist narratives. Teaching by doing echoes Lee’s (2000) “cultural modeling” approach and pushes students to think about the theories and practices of multicultural education, which is one of the roots of critical multiculturalism (Banks, 2010; Sleeter & McLaren,

1995). Since the field of multicultural education emerged from communities of color and from educators demanding educational equity, it is important for future teachers to consider the past and current “politics of education.” Therefore, courses that focus on exploring youth activist narratives through a critical multicultural lens would push pre- service teacher education candidates to think deeply about the interwoven history of education, citizenship, and equity. Through this lens, teacher educators and future teachers can begin to write about, reflect upon, and discuss how teaching and restory-ing could be conceptualized as activism.

In K-20 English courses, students would explore the textual experiences of activist narratives. Therefore, the ways in which young people synthesize and analyze text to create different types of meanings would be central to such courses. Collections of youth activist narratives would continue to serve as texts that could be interwoven with historical narratives in courses in rhetoric, composition, and interdisciplinary studies.

Students would explore how self-authored texts such as autobiographies and memoirs, for example, were used to mobilize marginalized communities. Such courses would focus on oral, written, visual, and additional types of texts that contribute to what we mean when we think of activist identities, especially those of youth activists. In these ways, then, this

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dissertation study points to the overarching intervention of the intentional design and implementation of courses that explore how “everyday people” (Dittmer, 1994; Marshall,

2013) engage in activist practices. Individuals who enroll in such courses could develop critical lenses in which to see young people (and themselves) as activists, communities as sites of learning, and activism as a contemporary educational and social practice.

Youth collaboration in interstitial spaces

Youth collaboration in interstitial spaces between communities and classrooms would demonstrate why scholars, educators, and community members should begin to move beyond discussing young people as “future citizens” (Ginwright & Cammarota,

2007) and positioning them as educational collaborators (see Nemeth, Butler, Kinloch,

Washington, & Reed, 2014). Young people could collect activist narratives in their local communities and document that information to understand what activism is within contemporary contexts. In thinking about the girls in my dissertation study, I realize that there should be more spaces for young people to continue to engage in critical, collaborative social justice work. The girls’ uptake of a social justice issue—human trafficking—and their involvement in school and the local community address my second research question about why they engaged in narrative writing process, and reveal how such engagements could impact community change and classroom practices. Their involvement within the community, visit to a community organization, and subsequently, their interviewing of a community representative (see Chapter 4) shaped how they engaged in their social justice issue. It also shaped how they interacted in the space of their Humanities class as they made decisions about their project and presented their

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research findings to their teacher and peers. Important to note here is that they did this work in interstitial spaces.

Therefore, youth collaboration in interstitial spaces could be reflected by the creation of Youth Advisory Boards composed of students working directly with teachers and community members to develop enrichment programs, internships, and other educational outreach opportunities. As a result, young peoples’ work could be seen as relevant and innovative attempts to address pertinent social issues. Youth Advisory

Boards would attend to what Levinson (2012) calls the “civic empowerment gap,” which she discusses as the disparities between the civic participation and knowledge of marginalized students (i.e., students of color, students from linguistically diverse communities, and working class households) versus White students and students from upper and middle class households. By focusing on the work young people can do and are already doing in interstitial spaces between communities and classrooms, youth, specifically youth of color, can begin to be validated as their portrayal of themselves as social justice workers and activists is recognized, pushed, and supported by those learning with them (i.e., teachers, peers, community members, researchers, etc.).

Finally, I argue that this dissertation study contributes to the ways in which young people have the power to persuade, educate, and act. According to Huey P. Newton

(1973), “power is the ability to first of all define phenomenon and, secondly, the ability to make these phenomena act in a desired manner” (p.120, qtd. by Mccartney, 1992).

Therefore, scholars (Ginwright, 2000; Kinloch, 2010, 2012; Paris, 2010; Morrell, 2008) who work with youth and youth researchers have shown us how young people can define various phenomena—ranging from how society views and treats young people to how

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individuals in society treat one another. This dissertation builds on that body of work in advocating that young people can investigate social justice issues within schools and communities in ways that get them to consider whether their stances, dispositions, and behaviors warrant those of activists within their local and/or global communities.

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Appendix A Book List for Non-fiction Reading Assignment

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Appendix B Social Justice Capstone Instructions

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Appendix C Social Justice Capstone Grant Proposal Form

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