Part I (Theory)
Education is never neutral. It either reinforces existing power structures, or it challenges them. I teach history because I believe it should do the latter. Real learning happens when students actively engage with ideas, challenge the dominant narratives they’ve been taught, and critically examine how power has operated throughout history and continues to shape society today. History is more than just a timeline of events—it’s a way of understanding how systems of oppression and resistance have shaped the world and how those same patterns persist. But too often, educators treat students like empty containers to be filled with facts instead of critical thinkers who can analyze, question, and apply what they learn. Freire (1970) calls this “critical consciousness”—the ability to recognize injustice and take action to change it. Camangian (2013) expands on this idea by arguing that learning must be humanizing. Students’ lived experiences, their identities, and their histories shouldn’t be seen as distractions from “real” learning—they should be the very foundation of it. If students cannot see themselves or their communities reflected in history, or if they only learn about oppression without also seeing examples of resistance and agency, they will not feel connected to what they are learning. I want my students to see history as something that matters—not just something to memorize to pass a test, but something that helps them make sense of the world and their place in it.
This is why Critical Pedagogy shapes how I teach. Camangian & Stovall (2022) argue that students shouldn’t just passively receive information—they should also be knowledge producers. That means real learning happens when students connect the past to the present and see how systems of oppression shape their own lives. If history is taught passively, it becomes meaningless. If it’s taught critically, it helps students ask bigger questions—Why does this system exist? Who benefits from it? Whose voices are missing? How could it be different? Magill & Salinas (2018) emphasize that the way teachers position themselves in the classroom matters. Students won’t challenge power structures if the classroom itself feels like one. Similarly, Au (2009) applies Gee’s (2005) “Building Tasks” framework, showing that curriculum itself is never neutral—it either upholds dominant narratives, or it disrupts them. If students aren’t encouraged to challenge dominant perspectives, they’ll remain disengaged. But when they start questioning whose stories are told, why certain perspectives are prioritized, and how oppression operates in history and society, they gain something more valuable than just historical knowledge. They gain the tools to navigate, challenge, and transform the systems that shape their lives—economically, socially, politically, and culturally. My job as an educator isn’t just to teach history—it’s to help students think critically about the world and their ability to change it.
Part II (Action)
Guided by a Critical Race Theory (CRT) lens and driven by a framework rooted in critical pedagogy, I align my teaching practice with a Radical Curriculum model and use Socratic Seminars as my instructional model. CRT examines how systemic racism and power structures shape education, emphasizing counter-storytelling, critical engagement, and student agency (Camangian & Stovall, 2022). Radical Curriculum aligns with this by rejecting traditional, hegemonic approaches to education, centering marginalized voices, and encouraging students to interrogate and disrupt dominant narratives. Socratic Seminars put these principles into practice by fostering student-driven discussions that challenge dominant narratives and cultivate critical thinking. By engaging in questioning, dialogue, and evidence-based reasoning, students take ownership of their learning and develop the skills to critically analyze systems of power and oppression. This approach ensures that students engage deeply with history, not just as passive learners but as active participants in shaping historical understanding (Estes et al., 2016).
To enact this approach, I prioritize three instructional strategies: Structured Academic Controversy, Fishbowl Discussions, and Inquiry-Based Learning. These strategies align with CRT, Radical Curriculum, and Socratic Seminars by centering student voices, fostering critical engagement, and encouraging collaborative learning. Structured Academic Controversy allows students to engage with multiple perspectives, helping them critically examine how narratives are shaped by power (Instructional Strategies List, 2015). Fishbowl Discussions deepen listening, reflection, and critical engagement by creating space for student-driven dialogue, ensuring that marginalized perspectives are considered (Instructional Strategies List, 2015). Inquiry-Based Learning places students at the center of knowledge construction, requiring them to generate questions, investigate sources, and form conclusions rather than passively receiving information (Instructional Strategies List, 2015). These strategies encourage students to interrogate dominant narratives, engage in meaningful discussion, and construct knowledge in ways that challenge systemic oppression (Camangian & Stovall, 2022).
By implementing these strategies, I create a classroom that moves beyond surface-level learning and fosters critical inquiry, collaboration, and real-world application. Structured Academic Controversy, Fishbowl Discussions, and Inquiry-Based Learning ensure that education is not just about acquiring knowledge but about equipping students with the analytical tools to challenge and transform the systems that shape their lives. Grounded in CRT, Radical Curriculum, and Socratic Seminar, my pedagogy empowers students to critically engage with history and see themselves as agents of change in their communities and beyond.
Part III (Reflection)
While these strategies define how I structure my classroom for critical engagement, being a critically reflective teacher also means examining how my own choices—planned or spontaneous—impact student experience and either reinforce or resist systems of oppression. My praxis is grounded in Critical Race Theory (CRT), which recognizes that racism is deeply embedded in our institutions and that systems of power create and reinforce racial inequities, often invisibly. CRT encourages educators to center the voices and experiences of students of color, challenge dominant narratives, and engage in ongoing reflection. As Brookfield (1995) explains, being a critically reflective teacher means interrogating how our assumptions, behaviors, and classroom decisions either resist or reproduce systems of oppression. Critical incidents, which are moments that compel us to question our practice, are essential to this process. They prompt us to confront blind spots and reconsider how we position ourselves in relation to our students’ lived realities.
One such moment occurred when an Indian student in my class shared that they wanted to be president one day, then paused and asked, “Has there ever been an Indian president?” I told them honestly that there hadn’t been one yet, and I told them that maybe they could be the first. But the question lingered. It didn’t feel like it was asked solely out of curiosity. It felt like they were wondering whether someone like them belonged in the story of our nation that we were telling. That moment revealed how the absence of representation in our curriculum sends a powerful, unspoken message. Brookfield (1995) describes critical incidents as vividly remembered moments that make us stop and think. For me, this was exactly that—a reminder that what goes unmentioned can be just as impactful as what gets taught.
In response, I’ve committed to ensuring students see themselves in the curriculum—not only as subjects of oppression, but as historical actors. Drawing on Gay and Kirkland’s (2003) call for cultural critical consciousness, I plan to design opportunities for students to reflect on their identities, ask questions, and connect their experiences to history. Their article reinforced the need to center students’ cultural knowledge and lived experience, not as add-ons, but as foundations of instruction. Going forward, I want to treat questions like my student’s not as side comments, but as legitimate openings for historical inquiry. These moments are not distractions—they are reminders of why this work matters.
References
Au, W. (2009). The “Building Tasks” of critical history: Structuring social studies for social justice. Social Studies Research and Practice, 4(1), 25-35.
Camangian, P. (2013). Teach like lives depend on it: White teachers and racial neutrality in urban classrooms. Urban Education, 50(4), 379-403.
Camangian, P., & Stovall, D. (2022). Bang on the system: People’s praxis and pedagogy as humanizing violence. Urban Education, 57(1), 3-31.
Community Training and Assistance Center, & Washoe County School District. (2015). Instructional strategies list. Community Training and Assistance Center and Washoe County School District.
Estes, T., Mintz, S., & Gunter, M., (2016). Instruction: A Models Approach. London U.K.: Pearson Education, Inc.
Freire, P. (2014). Pedagogy of the oppressed (M. B. Ramos, Trans.). Bloomsbury Academic. (Original work published 1970).
Magill, K., & Salinas, C. (2018). The primacy of relation: Social studies teachers and the praxis of critical pedagogy. Theory & Research in Social Education, 46(4), 528-551.