Chicago native Eve L. Ewing is dropping her new book, Original Sins: The (Mis)education of Black and Native Children and the Construction of American Racism. In it, the University of Chicago professor and cultural organizer illuminates the deep historical ways the American education system upholds hierarchies of race.
“For both of our peoples, both of these histories are about control. It’s about subjugation. It’s about telling us that we’re stupid, that we’re lesser,” Ewing said about the public education given to Black and Indigenous communities.
By analyzing the historical violence towards Black and Indigenous communities, Ewing cites examples of how public education has and continues to uphold negative beliefs around intellectual inferiority, discipline and economic subjugation.
The TRiiBE got a chance to speak with Ewing before the book’s Feb. 11 release date. Read our conversation below.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
The TRiiBE: Your book uses history to explain our education system. Why did you decide to write about the specific educational experiences of both Black and Indigenous students?
Eve Ewing: When I was first becoming a teacher and getting my first master’s degree, I started to learn more about the history of schools in the U.S. and was really shocked. As Black people, a lot of us are raised with this idea that education is freedom, education is liberation. The symbolism of reading and writing literally was freedom for our ancestors; you could write yourself a path to freedom. So I knew that story.
When I started learning more about the history of schools, I knew that Indigenous people in this country had been subjected to genocide, to murder, but I didn’t understand how thoroughly central schooling was to that process. Moreover, I didn’t expect how blatant they [the government] were with it. I didn’t expect to actually read government officials saying things like, “We need to get the kids into school so that we can teach them to want money so that they’ll be pulled into capitalism.” I didn’t expect them to say it is actually cheaper to win the “Indian War” by putting the kids in school as opposed to sending out soldiers.
I was blown away by that. I felt that you actually could not understand American schools without understanding the educational histories of Black and Native people. The ways that we have been treated are really at the basis of the origins of the American project.
What are the differences and similarities of the Black and Indigenous experiences?
One of the major differences that I talk about in the book is that in order for the U.S. to justify itself and justify the mass murder of Native people whose lands this country resides on, it requires that those people disappear. That is the lie that is necessary to justify the ongoing U.S. colonial projects. We see that reflected in our curriculum. Friends who see themselves as progressive or liberal people would say things like, “I don’t celebrate Columbus Day because all the Indians were murdered, or all the Native people are gone.” They’re not gone. They are here and present and living among us as friends and neighbors.
For Black people, there’s a different lie because this country was built with our stolen labor and bodies. White supremacy needed Black people to believe that they were inherently ignorant and less intelligent, to believe that our natural place is to be subservient. [After Emancipation], a lot of the textbooks taught Black people, “Congratulations, you’re free now, and the most important thing for you to do is to forgive your master. Never seek vengeance against them.” For both of our peoples, both of these histories are about control and subjugation.
In the book, you cite specific examples of the Pledge of Allegiance, standardized testing and the gifted and talented programs as ways to uphold racial hierarchy through the education system. I think that we've seen more resistance to those things in recent years; former NFL quarterback Colin Kaepernick taking a knee during the U.S. national anthem, for example. How can we be more mindful of how these acts uphold racism, especially if they're so ingrained in American society?
Part of the point of the book is that this political moment is a continuation of a lot of other moments. My hope is that people who read the book — whether they be community organizers, educators, parents, young people, or students — are underlining and highlighting and saying, “Oh my gosh, this passage about something that happened in the 19th century actually makes me think differently about this thing that we’re doing today.” [I hope they] talk to other people about that.
I think that it’s overwhelming if we think that it’s one person’s job to overthrow an entire system. The system wasn’t built by one person. It was built by all of these small bricks in the wall that we now have to dutifully dismantle one by one. Small groups of people engaging in that kind of work together is how the system gets dismantled. It’s how we imagine something else.
You mention the act of braiding hair in the book, and use that as a way of moving forward and emphasizing love. Could you elaborate a little bit more on that metaphor? How can we apply it in our lives?
Braiding is something I thought about because it has symbolism. Braiding is an act of care, and a metaphor for care. The kind of tenderness and intimacy that it requires, the trust, the time. The ceremony that it requires of oils, sitting and conversation. That feels very powerful to me.
But the thing is, if I had to distill the whole book, I really would say these people constructed an [education] system that is based on not loving our children, not loving us.
So the antidote to that has to be, how do we show love to ourselves, to our communities and to young people? What does it look like for us to model love, tenderness, kindness and patience not only in how we treat young people, but also in how we treat each other with gentleness?
I feel like something that’s very powerful about Chicago is that I was raised in a community where, for us, relationships are everything. That’s why, when we ask about where you went to high school, it’s not just a status checking thing. I’m trying to find what relationship do you and I have that I can use to trust you?
The systematic pushback we've seen against anti-racist education has felt extra heightened in the past couple years. There’s been book bans and now, Trump has revoked executive orders related to educational equity and economic opportunity for Black, Indigenous and Hispanic communities. As an educator and organizer, what stands out to you in this moment?
What is happening now [politically] is intended to shut us down. It’s not just about saying, “Oh, you can’t teach this. You can’t teach that.” It’s about doing so in a way that is so violent, aggressive and so rapid fire that it overwhelms and shuts down people’s capacity to feel like they can resist. The point is to exhaust us. They see the way young people in schools learn the histories of this country but also learn the histories of the freedom fighters. It is imperative [for them] to shut that down as quickly as possible.
Every issue in our society lands on children and young people, [as they are often] the most vulnerable members of our community who are given the least opportunity to share their voice institutionally. It’s really important that we do not lie down, that we do not curl into a ball, that we do not give up. I think it’s also why our understanding of what constitutes resistance — and who’s an organizer, who’s an activist and who’s a freedom fighter — has to be really expansive.
There’s always going to be a minority of people that feel comfortable showing up at a protest or talking on a megaphone or leading a walkout. Those things are really important and they are not the only form of leadership or resistance. If we only rely on those few people doing those few actions, we’re going to be exhausted and worn down really fast. There has to be time and space for people to do that smaller scale: community led, support work. I think that is what’s going to keep us going.
