“The concept that schools are complicit in the maintenance of a bad thing is contrary to the most basic idea that supposedly animates education in the United States. We are told that schools are supposed to be places that inculcate fairness, where our life outcomes are tied to our individual efforts. But, on the contrary, schools have been shaped by the same ideas that drove European colonists to stake property claims on faraway Indigenous lands and the ideas that shaped the formation of the Middle Passage. These original sins did not take place in a discrete moment of time; they linger, they fester, they grow and morph and change. They persist and persist and persist. They shape the tenor of our public discourse, the architecture of our buildings and towns and neighborhoods, the stories we are told, and the schools to which we send our children.”

Big thanks to Random House Publishers and NetGalley for providing me with an advanced copy of Eve Ewing’s incredible and necessary book Original Sins: The (Mis)education of Black and Native Children and the Construction of American Racism. I’ve had Ewing’s other book about school closings in Chicago on my to-read list for a long time, so I was really glad to be able to read this book prior to publication. Ewing’s book is brimming with ideas and insights about education in America—some of them are new, many of them are challenging, while others take some previous concepts and thinking about the purpose of American schools and challenge them to view schooling and education from a colonial perspective, with a particular emphasis on eliminating the culture of Native and Black children and families. That is, education is used as a technology to “civilize” non-white minorities, but with the further intent on capitalizing (or making money) on their land and bodies. Ewing’s thesis is based on extensive history, finding examples and citing them through footnotes. As an educator, I was familiar with some of the arguments Ewing makes about the purpose of school. Is our educational system a ways to socialize new immigrants and have them assimilate into white, European behaviors and ideas? Are our schools merely factories that replicate the work expectations of 20th century industrial America? Do schools merely reproduce inequality and social capital, providing advantages to those families with greater social capital? However, what is novel about Ewing’s perspective is how schooling is tied into the kind of colonial capitalism that was furthered by land displacement in the 18th and 19th centuries and slavery, both original sins of America. She argues that rather than thinking of American education as the great equalizer that provides opportunities for upliftment, schools are a site of replication of a the inequalities and used a technology to control (or “civilize”) Native and Black children. Thus, it’s probably safe to say that this book will not be a part of Moms for Liberty’s book club, nor will Florida makes this required reading for incoming teachers, which is really a shame because Ewing’s arguments and critiques come at an important time for education and teachers in general. As she documents from her own experiences as science teacher in Chicago, sometimes teachers with good intentions often further the kinds of inequalities or messages about control and inadequacy that has been a part of most American education since its start.
Although Ewing’s book is replete with scholarly sources and research, she also makes it accessible by looking for modern equivalents and making the examples and ideas relevant to today’s teachers. I also appreciated her historical perspective that moves in a chronological timeline, but also tackles issues in education from the different, yet related experiences of Native and Black students. Her chapters start with the founding of America, and how historical figures like Thomas Jefferson promoted ideas about racial inferiority to develop and maintain the system of chattel slavery. Furthermore by promoting an exclusive idea of education that focused primarily on classical education, mathematics, and history, American schools also became sites of exclusivity and elitism, where education was mainly offered to rich, white families, and the occasional top white student from a regional area. I really appreciated learning more about the evolution of American education, and in particular the views and ideas that Jefferson promoted. Furthermore Ewing notes how Indian boarding schools developed, mainly from a prison in Florida that relocated some Indigenous People who rebelled against their forced relocation. This was interesting to me because I just read about Fort Marion in Tommy Orange’s book Wandering Stars. As Ewing notes, the attempts to “civilize” Indigenous People began in a prison where the philosophy was “kill the Indian, save the man”, as well as other sentiments like “The only good Indian is a dead Indian.” American schools have continued to perpetuate this ideas in various ways, both intentionally and unintentionally. Ewing’s organization, moving from the history of slavery and dispossession to the segregated schools and Indian boarding schools, eventually leads to modern applications of control and attempts to “civilize” through education. As someone who has worked in education for my entire career, I’m familiar with some of the attempts to “control” that Ewing describes in her chapters about school. She recounts a personal experience about her school’s attempts to “scare students straight” by taking a field trip to the local jail, not considering the experiences of students whose parents and relatives have been incarcerated. Whether justly or not, this kind of experience, confronting the loss of a family member, is sure to hit students hard, especially those who might not have the emotional vocabulary to grapple with this kind of loss and confrontation. I know that my former students who had relatives who were incarcerated didn’t really talk about it, and often struggled to really articulate their feelings, which were most likely complicated and deep. I also didn’t know much of what to say, not always aware of their experiences. Nevertheless, Ewing’s alternative field trip to view a documentary provided a better alternative for her students, and one that didn’t necessarily come with a emotional toll. She also explores the school to prison pipeline, noting how this unjust phenomenon has become more and more a part of the discourse on education of minority students, especially as we learn how they are more likely to face time out of school due to suspensions and other disciplinary actions that white students typically do not face at similar rates. As I read these sections, I was reminded of Monique Morris’s excellent and important book Pushout that examines the unfair treatment of Black girls in schools. Ewing explores similar injustices and biases in schools, especially how Black children often face adultification, where whites typically view behaviors and actions of Black children as older. These kinds of biases lead to different treatment, not only in schools, but also in the justice system. I was unfamiliar with this term, but I can see how it happens in many schools, and how it leads to a lack of second chances or opportunities when Black children make mistakes. Ewing also explores how often programs and teaching methods are implemented for Black children that do not allow for any kind of autonomy or free expression. Rather, methods like SLANT (sit up, listen/lean forward, ask questions, nod your head, track the speaker) are reinforced in many schools to promote an attention control for many minority students. I was so glad to see pushback on Doug Lemov’s Teach Like a Champion, which was a popular book at a school where I taught. While there are some useful strategies and suggestions, much of the book operates on a deficit approach of students, assuming that they lack any kind of willingness or initiative to learn, and as a result, they need to be trained to follow these behavioristic methods. Ewing’s critique was validation of those who believe that all students have the right to autonomy and how important that kind of autonomy and creativity will be in their future careers. Even though this critique was brief and succinct, I really appreciated reading it.
Other instances of control focused on more choices of personal expression, especially around important characteristics like hair, where I feel like there is always a story about a student being forced to cut their locks or afro. As Ewing noted in earlier chapters, this was often one of the first steps taken at Indian boarding schools, where children were shorn like animals, with little regard for the cultural significance of their hair or for their own feelings or personal autonomy. Ewing references Foucault’s theory of discipline and punishment to explore how the control of the body seeks to also alter the soul. As sad as it is, I agree with her analysis in many of the instances of school where the emphasis is on discipline and “no excuses” that largely seek to control behavior or shape behavior into what is the expected learning standards, at least from a white perspective. There’s no real consideration for learning styles that might vary or be different, that emphasize a sense of the collective group as opposed to individual responses. While there have been some shifts away from these no excuse schools and incorporation of more culturally relevant pedagogy, that need to control students’ bodies still exists and plays a significant role in shaping their education.
The conclusion of the book presents some ways to move forward and heal, presenting ideas of solidarity and acknowledgement of the hurt and harm both Native and Black people have endured and possibly inflicted upon one another. I loved this section, as Ewing presents a theory of not only unity, but also resilience. She also affirms the idea of thriving and how building on that kind of solidarity helps to facilitate thriving, rather than looking at blame or victimhood as a kind of zero sum game. In particular, she emphasizes an ethic of care, which I have always tried to make a part of my pedagogy. I loved that she brings this idea to addressing the kind of injustices that Native and Black students have faced in order to move forward and thrive. She couples this ethic of care with the collective struggle, in that we work together towards a common end, recognizing our similarities over our differences. Again, I loved this idea, and I think it is important to look towards commonalities as opposed to differences. Ewing’s ideas reminded me of the kind of collective struggle that the Brazilian educator Paulo Freire advocated when he likened education to a road that we make by walking. The idea was that our experience and knowledge help to create the path, and that we collective make our way on a shared journey. This is really important because it seems like education is too often viewed as a precious commodity or a finite resource, allowing others with the means to take more than is needed. It’s important to recognize that education is a right, and that all people should have this right. In other sections, Ewing’s ideas about the kind of revolutionary changes needed for school reminded me of Davidson’s ideas about institutional unlearning, even making the case for abolishing school in order to create a new educational institution that meets the needs of all learners and operates under more fair and just precepts. Ewing’s final metaphor is to liken teaching and learning to braiding, which is an important practice to both Native and Black cultures. Furthermore, the idea of braiding is seen as a kind of communal act that brings us together, strengthening our bonds. I thought that this was such a great metaphor or symbol to use. I kept thinking about a recent visit to the Polynesian Cultural Center in Hawaii where we learned about the different cultures of the islands in Polynesia. In Tahiti, we learned about braiding grass fronds, and my kids were so interested in the process. It seemed so natural and common to the Tahitians working there, but it took us some time to learn the process of hooking the two pieces together to create a kind of strong bond. Ewing uses a great quote from Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass, which is the third time I’ve come across this book in the past 2 months. I can see how Kimmerer’s idea of braiding, not just the product, but the process and the community involved, would be a great way to consider teaching and learning, and how these two ends can be tied closer together when we focus more on commonalities and communities. Eve Ewing’s book Original Sins is a very important book that is necessary for new teachers to read, but also important for others involved in caring and education, especially parents and other stewards of communities. She not only raises awareness about the unjust history of how capitalism stole bodies and land, and how schools and education were complicit in furthering this kind of theft, but she also explores how current practices in schools have been influenced by these injustices. This book is rich with details and explores research and ideas from Native and Black scholars, adding an integral perspective that is not always given the kind of amplification it needs. I loved how Ewing challenges popular perceptions of schools as the great equalizer, bringing history, statistics, and anecdotes to challenge this myth of meritocracy, and to share how not everyone shares the same kind of educational experiences. I highly recommend this book as an important text for anyone involved in education or community work.

I first read Mrs. Ewing's work in Ghosts in the Schoolyard, then in her "side quests" (for lack of a better term) In comics. Like all before it, Original Sins is excellent, clear as day, and eye opening. I will be reading this again.

reviewed after assignment for the web newsletter Shelf Awareness. review can be found in full at https://www.shelf-awareness.com/