The Revolution Will Be Designed, Played, and Also Queer AF: Here Is How We Built It In 11 Hours and What We Learned
We stand at the precipice of a revolutionary shift towards a multicultural, multiracial, and multilingual democracy, where teachers are losing their jobs for talking about race and hanging rainbow flags. Catastrophic floods, heat waves, and earthquakes illuminate the broken relationship with our earth's home. Legislation is passing that erases the experiences of students of color, especially black students and LGBTQIA+ students; we are called to prepare our bodies for a wiser response and activate accordingly.
Educators committed to justice, equity, and the emergence of the multiracial, multiethnic, and multilingual democracy have always acted wisely. Whether they committed to teaching black children how to read in 1823 under the cover of night or teaching children American history by hosting open dialogues about race, class, gender, and systems of oppression under fluorescent lights in 2023 —educators committed to justice have always worked quietly, powerfully, and secretly. They understood they had to keep teaching, learning, and sharing their knowledge.
In 1823 and 1923, sharing their revolutionary intention and objectives would be met with a brutal retaliation, forcing many to work in silence covertly. Preparation for the multiracial, multicultural, multilingual democracy would not just cost a job but a life. In 2023, this preparation still cost lives and livelihoods. In Narratives of Progressive Black Educators, we are reminded of the wise educators who faced incredible life-threatening obstacles and how they worked through them
“Many of you young people show up now and ask us questions about civil rights. No one ever asks what we did in the classroom. We knew that the system was unfair. We knew what was going to be given to us. We knew what should have been given to us. And we knew what we were not going to get. But we also knew that we were making a difference, and at summer workshops, we heard what others were doing in their classrooms: not grand talk, not theory, but actual practices. That’s what we were interested in. Not what people were calling one another.” (x, Kridel)
Systems of oppression impact the bodies in the most violent and abhorrent ways. We know too many. However, one of the other ways the systems silently slice our bodies is to create the feeling and experience of isolation. These systems create such fear in sharing experiences, practices, coping mechanisms, and strategies that we do not open up to one and other. We stay silent; in this silence, we think we are the only ones caring about the burden.
And when we think it's just us, the burden becomes so overwhelming that we either drop it or it crushes us.
But what if we knew we were not alone?
What if we held it together and used our privilege to hold it together loudly?
Summer School was our 11-week practice of “holding it together” and sharing this burden with other educators. We humbly stand in the lineages of black and white teachers who taught enslaved black Americans how to read. We stand in the lineage of learners who spoke their languages as acts of resistance in Indian boarding schools. We stand in the lineage of Horace Tate, who created safe and brave spaces for black teachers to organize and align in progressive teaching practices in the 1950s, 60s, and 70s. And we stand in solidarity with all educators who continue to do the hard thing because it's often the right thing.
You are not alone. We are standing with you. And the ancestors are, too.
Our stance reminds us that to create this new world; we dare to stand in this lineage of other edge walkers and creators who challenged conventional thinking and leveraged language differently. We stand in the lineage with those who spoke and shared in the efforts to create healing and enhance the innate human ability to transgress the rigidity of supremacist structures, those seen and unseen, the worse that is the forefront of our consciousness, and those that sit right at the surface of our subconscious mind. To that end, like bell hooks, we actively reclaim the word ‘queer’ and acknowledge that its assimilated meaning has been bonded by the imagination of the limited to only describe one’s sexual practice.
But this is just a starting point. Our creative journey together expands the meaning and pushes at its edges to create new relationships with ourselves and each other. We have to get comfortable queering our learning. We have to practice queering in the classroom. And when we are ready, we must queer ourselves.
‘Queer' not as being about who you're having sex with (that can be a dimension of it); but 'queer' as being about the self that is at odds with everything around it and that has to invent and create and find a place to speak and to thrive and to live. -bell hooks
In the words of the ancestor bell hooks, we must find the spaces in our own “self that is at odds with everything around it and invent and create and find a place to speak and thrive and to live.”
That was the goal of Summer School.
To stack stories of resistance on top of each other to see the patterns and the web of connections, and when we were lucky enough to hear the right words at the right time or connect the quote from the first week to the quote in the eleventh week, we ignited something that inspired an inward journey into the self.
That is magic.
And from that magic, we learned something this summer and are excited to share it with you.
Queering Space to Remember the Self: Environments Matter
Queer as being…[able to] invent and create and find a place to speak
We used the metaverse as our virtual classroom on purpose. It created an immersive experience with different physics and organization. Quote boxes illuminated with light and floated in space. Orbs rested in tree branches. There was no roof. We could fly around and move through walls. It also reminded us that this emergent space required us to learn and assess how we wanted to show up actively. We could choose the body that felt aligned with our most authentic selves. We could choose our names. We had to learn to talk, walk, and locate ourselves in this new space. The impermanence created a sense of artful playfulness when conversations of identity are often rigid—tense and constricted by the fear of not being understood, not belonging, or their associated traumas. This concept is crucial as we frequently assume that we can articulate our thoughts and undergo transformation within the comfort zones of familiar environments.
If we agree that new learning is required in the multicultural, multiracial, multilingual democracy, we must challenge and queer the spaces that have become too familiar for new learning. Our classrooms and boardrooms alone may not create the discomfort necessary to create and invent new speaking spaces. And if we agree that our racism and equity have been designed into our spaces, it also stands to reason that we —both oppressor and oppressed—have adjusted our behavior to these expectations of these spaces. Virtual worlds are spaces where implicit biases, power dynamics, and invisible structures govern relationships with people in our organizations, schools, and governments. By making them visible, we can assess the impact on people and create a space for reflection and repair.
We can also see how they show up in ourselves. Our metaverse space is not perfect—idle avatars look at their watches and silently signal that time is passing, which could communicate a sense of urgency, wardrobe options are still growing, and everyone has the same gait. But it serves as a mirror and a pause to help us see how we have internalized and embodied supremastic practices without conscious awareness. And that pause is the much-needed breath between stimulus and response that urgency often arrests. And that pause is the much-needed breath that allows us to realize who we could be more.
Environments matter. So, while it might be hard to create this playful space in the reality of brick-and-mortar schools, we are reminded that there are spaces where we don’t have to practice the ways of colonization of separation. Identities are social constructions that are ripe for play. Learning is defying and defining the self—challenging who we are and who we could be. Environments can be thoughtfully designed to help learners better see themselves, not just for their well-being but so that they can see themselves in others. Once we realize that we need to, our healing journey of dissolving our internal paradoxes has just begun, and we can start the hard work of putting ourselves back together again.
Queering Stories to Remember Others: Curriculum Matters
'Queer' as being about the self that is at odds with everything around it
Our curricular strategy was simple—tell stories of resistance joyfully and create the space for public dialogue. The discipline of storytelling was guided by 10+ ideas that fuel oppression. While the orientation of the experience aligned with the metaphor of the linear passage of time, when we were in the space, we could orient ourselves and our stories as stacks offered in 3-dimensional space. From this ability to connect in a 3D manner, physics permits objects to be spatially closer, which means we could see a quote from 1959 beside a quote from 2016 and see their connections and the stories in between. An effective curriculum is full of surprises—especially the unexpected ones. We anticipated a learning curve in building the space. We anticipated the learning curve in learning how to broadcast live using OBS Studio. But what we did not anticipate experiencing was the visceral edge and depth of our understanding throughout each week.
A Transformative Curriculum Invites Play
Each week, each time a visitor came to the space, they had to orient themselves and learn how to see, move, talk, walk, and hear. This was intentional in the design so that they could engage in the curriculum thoughtfully. Learners had to relearn these motor skills to engage because the sense is mediated through a trackpad, mouse, and cursor.
For some, it was too overwhelming, and they left the space. But for others who could play long enough, it became fun. While most of the visitors and participants were adults, it was clear that adults have little time to play, and some of us have even forgotten how. We have forgotten that when you are playing a game can keep trying, that we don’t have to take ourselves too seriously, and that we are playful and relaxed; we are often our most creative. This is ironic because many of us were one of the first generations to have enough video games as a pastime.
Suppose we create a curriculum and learning experience that will prepare our students and adults to design and build a multicultural, multiracial, multilingual democracy. In that case, we also must design joy and playfulness into the design process. Not as a reward or an incentive but as a part of the process. When we play games, we can keep trying, that we don't have to take ourselves too seriously, and that we are playful and relaxed; we are often our most creative. And if it's a really good game, we realize that the true winners are the ones who keep playing joyfully.
A Transformative Curriculum Reshapes Time and Lines
Time is often seen as a design lever to pull to change a learning experience. But that happens when the learning experiences change how you see time. Let me explain…
As the metaverse space allowed us to stack stories of the past, we also began to see that the past is indeed a part of the present. Every story of resistance had a throughline to the present, creating continuity and connection to the present moment and the players and designers of the space.
What was most surprising was how the old stories shape-shifted and revealed themselves as new in the present.
Here is one example:
In 12 Years of Lesbian Activism from 1969 - 1981, there was a reference to the Briggs Initiative Act, also known as Proposition 6. Proposed in California in 1978, the Briggs Initiative sought to ban gay and lesbian teachers and their supporters from working in California's public schools. The initiative was named after John Briggs, a California State Senator who sponsored the bill. The proposition was met with significant opposition, not just from LGBTQ+ groups but also from political figures such as Harvey Milk, one of the first openly gay elected officials in the United States, and then-Governor Ronald Reagan.
Although the Briggs Initiative initially had considerable public support, the tide turned against it, partly thanks to concerted efforts by activists and allies. Ultimately, the initiative was defeated at the ballot box, with about 58% of voters voting against it. The defeat of the Briggs Initiative is often considered a landmark moment in the fight for LGBTQ+ rights in the United States, and yet today the LGBTQIA community remains in the crosshairs of legislative terror, classroom exclusion, and library marginalization.
In Women Speak Out Against Fascism in 1969, women in the Black Panther Party openly and eloquently critiqued the racial, patriarchal, and classist structures they experienced when they said:
“And resist? Or are we going to let stand by helplessly and cooperate with the repressive powers that are in the communities in our lives? No, we can't gain control in the present framework. We can only organize to resist the authority of the police and the courts—the courts which are the bulwark for the fascist exploiters. For too long, the victims of exploitation, repression, and racism have been asked to pay the price to maintain a system that rewards and promotes the real criminals in society to positions of great wealth and power. Again, organize, organize, and resist power to the people. Thank you, sister. We have a very limited time, not because of chauvinism, but because of fascism.”
We have very limited time, not because of chauvinism, but because of fascism. The limits on time bring us rapidly into the present moment.
Transformative curriculum brings the past to the present through the self. We get a behavior blueprint when the player and learner engage with text like this. We see how black women talked about fascism. We connect it to how we are experiencing fascism today, and then we can determine our response. In this, we become immersed in the story, the bounds of time relax, and we see our lineage. Curriculum has the power to change people, especially when it is designed with that end in mind.
Our curriculum was stories of resistance, and in using primary sources, we realized that our understanding was shallow. As the curriculum designer who lives in a black, queer, woman body, each primary source, each story helped me see more of myself and notice where I stand in this history.
A Transformative Curriculum Creates Harmony
The final surprise only enabled by the environment was the lack of harmony and dissonance we noticed in our school experience and the elements that participants/players revealed that are still in practice. We believe that one of the enabling conditions for multicultural, multiracial, and multicultural is solidarity. We have to not only teach it, we have to create curricular nudges that incentivize it.
Solidarity is a term often used to describe a sense of unity or agreement among individuals or groups with a shared interest, goal, or cause. It's a form of mutual support that transcends individual self-interest for the well-being of a larger group or community. In social justice and activism, solidarity takes on deeper dimensions, often involving a commitment to stand alongside those who are marginalized, oppressed, or discriminated against.
In educational settings, particularly those aiming to foster equity and justice, solidarity is crucial. It calls upon educators, students, and community members to actively support each other in pursuing social justice, even when doing so may require sacrificing individual benefits for collective well-being. This could involve aligning with groups or individuals who experience oppression that one does not personally face to achieve broader societal change.
But for solidarity to become a lived practice, we need stories and new methods. We noticed that the Summer School Curriculum was one of the rare places where solidarity was modeled in practice. Resistance was modeled and voiced in queer bodies, black bodies, white bodies, rich bodies, poor bodies, Asian bodies, indigenous bodies, and Latinx bodies simultaneously. Too often, stories of revolution and resistance are monopolized by one group or another or elevated at one time or another. This can create a fragmentation of thought and set the conditions for supremacy.
When we see all the stories, we can see the bodies together.
We can see that they have always been together.
We can see and recognize each contribution to the collective struggle and our collective liberation.
We can see ourselves.
Solidarity must be taught, and we can do it by sharing not just one story per month but all of the stories throughout the months. Our liberation struggle is intertwined and shared. Solidarity must be practiced. Here is one idea a participant player shared during one of the sessions:
“If we believed and practiced solidarity, we would let students take standardized tests in teams across differences and allow the teams to talk through and share their thinking, their approach, and their reasoning. This could build incredible relationships across differences and teach students to see the gifts and talents of all students. Our curriculum would be biased toward relationships and not just the individual.”
If the world we want predicates itself on the ability to transcend individual self-interest, then we must model that not just in what we say and share as our explicit values; we also must teach and model it in practice. We have to show all the stories together in the exact moment so that new pathways can be made, relationships can be restored, and new ideas about the self can emerge.
Our focus on the development of individuals has fueled incredible cultural and technological advancements. However, our evolution towards a multicultural, multiracial, multiethnic democracy needs the development of new muscles, new skills, and new capacities. If solidarity is a pre-condition for multicultural, multiracial democracy, we must teach it in school. If solidarity is to be taught, then skills of collaboration, shared values, trust, respect, and the ability to engage in dialogue should balance the development of an individual’s technical skills, resilience and grit, time management, cultural competence, and critical thinking. Both are required and necessary to have instruction and assessment prepare students to design, build, and play in the new democracy.
Queering Identity to Realize the Self: Healing Matters
Queer as being…[able to] thrive and to live.
When I woke up this morning, somebody called me black, somebody else called me a woman and another person called me a lesbian. I’m just learning to be me.
I wish I could take credit for this poetic, truth-telling, intersectional genius, but I cannot.
Inspired by Audre Lorde, it describes the complexity of identity labels, how they impact the self, and how it develops and learns to interact with the built environment, other beings, and most importantly, itself.
At some point on the journey to the multicultural, multiracial, multilingual democracy, we have to create space to reevaluate how we have defined ourselves, the origins of those identities, and how they are, as anthropologist Gregory Bateson identified a phenomenon he termed "schismogenic," which refers to our inclination to differentiate ourselves in contrast to others. His research, based on the interactions of young boys and girls in Papua New Guinea, revealed that both genders learned to view traits of the opposite sex as undesirable and made efforts to distinguish themselves from those traits. Over time, this tendency intensifies, leading individuals in a relationship to define themselves as opposing or distinct from each other increasingly.
Each label identity marker is used to describe my body and its relationship with others and the built environment has its opposite. And it's in those opposites that we have designed and constructed hierarchies that are not only life-threatening, they limit one's experience of well-being when their bodies live. Their comfort and security limit and constrict our imaginations. And while they create a sense of belonging and rooted tradition, they can also block our ability to see ourselves in others.
This is not a clarion call for a color-blind society where we all acquiesce to a white male supremacist heteronormative patriarchal society; rather we recognize that we have defined ourselves in and with each other in ways that create dissonance and not harmony. And shining light on the dissonance itself is enough to take the authority away from these structures so that we can begin to write a new story for ourselves. With newly healed bodies ready to play, connected to the past and present, and inspired to design a new future, we can create new classifications and taxonomies that help us realize who we really are.
We know how to solve the complex challenges of our moment, but we may not have the wisdom. Lucky for us, wisdom is infinitely sourced from the bottomless well. It just requires that we do the hard and physical work of creating a deeper 6-inch connection between our heads and hearts.
This is personal work of community proportions. While the distance is measurable and comparably short compared to the chasm of its disconnection, we can do the work of reconnecting ourselves so that our eyes that see the difference, analyze, categorize, and classify are balanced with our hearts that perceive unity, and solidarity, oneness, and connection. Both are required for optimal wellness and well-being. And the democracy waiting for us to build and play needs us to work together to be more whole, well, and healed.
‘Queer' not as being about who you're having sex with (that can be a dimension of it), but 'queer' as being about the self that is at odds with everything around it and that has to invent and create and find a place to speak and to thrive and to live. When we have a moment to think and reflect on all of the ways we are at odds with everything around us, when we reflect on all of the ingenious ways that we all have had to invent and create and find new places to thrive and live, then we realized, that maybe just maybe we all are more queer than we would care to admit. And in this admission of seeing the other in ourselves, the power created by the systems designed in opposites falls impotent. We emerge in solidarity, with empathy that transforms us and bodies ready to create, move, and play joyfully.
We dance together.
So, can you design the revolution in 11 weeks, 11 hours, and the 11th hour? For those of us with the courage to go to every rigid, fragile, sharp edge of our personal and professional lives, playfully strike a pose, do the wop, cakewalk, jack our bodies, and duckwalk all over them, the answer is yes.
And our liberation awaits us on the other side.
