Refugios
Refugios
*CC BY 4.0Carlos E. Lavín, George Mason Universityclavin@gmu.edu@elracanoLucía I. Mock Muñoz de Luna, University of North CarolinaLucia.mock@unc.ed@Lucia_mockCherrie Moraga (1983) writes in the foreword to This Bridge Called My Back that we “are all refugees of a world on fire” and in many ways that feels more true than ever; the world is and has been on fire, and the flames that can bring light and heat can also destroy at will. At times the fire rages so fiercely that we have to seek and claim refuge.
Flames Destroying at Will
Carlos
When I was 19 I was at a coffee shop and I had to sit down and listen to an otherwise nice old lady talk about “those dirty Mexicans who are always trying to take your money.” I just sat there, dumbstruck. It was a new experience for me, but not one I particularly enjoyed. I had never been sideways-insulted without having anything to do with the conversation.
Today it happened again. Today someone took a swing at undocumented immigrants during class. She called them “illegals” and “why should we listen to them if they don’t even pay taxes?” It happened in a graduate seminar. The professor did nothing to change the topic, and I was left again sitting down without anything to say back. In my frustration I left the classroom and did not leave room for dialogue. I was called a hypocrite for not staying and listening to the point of view of those whose very words were already silencing me, and questioning the humanity of so many others. I don’t know if that was the right thing to do, but many questions do arise: Why is it that the brown student makes a stand and gets pinned with the blame? When is it acceptable to casually talk about “ICE” and “illegals” in the classroom? How can one question the humanity of others, in a graduate seminar, and go unchecked? How does a person feel empowered to use such language, and take over a space like that? Where does that leave others?
With one sentence, whiteness can take over a space and deny or silence the existence of any other.
When I was 19 I had to sit down and listen to an otherwise nice old lady talk about “those dirty Mexicans who are always trying to take your money.” Today, I had to sit down and listen to an otherwise nice young woman talk about those “illegals” and “why should we listen to them if they don’t even pay taxes?”
Nothing has changed.
Seeking and Claiming Refuge from Flames
Lucía
Two years ago I started this doctoral program and instantly felt like I was lost and that the chokehold of academic knowledge was tightening its grip. I couldn’t breathe: I didn’t understand the theories and language being thrown at us, or how they were relevant, I didn’t like how people spoke to each other (using words that obscure meaning, with tones of superiority and thinly veiled contempt), and I didn’t get how this version of education connected to all that I had experienced in my own schooling, in my work as a counselor, in my time in Beirut, Lebanon.
But then, Carlos invited me to the Latinx Education Research Hub (“the Hub”). And all of a sudden who I am, and what I know and feel, meant something in and to the “university.” In the Hub, we created a space where we could call bullshit on developmental theories and not have to explain it in language other than our own even if that meant, “this doesn’t feel right” or “I don’t trust old white men who studied their own children, or just white middle-class kids, to decide what counts as “normal” or “adaptive” or “appropriate.”
Fire Bringing Light
The Hub was also a space where my language, my heritage, my sexuality were not dismissed or positioned as secondary to my whiteness, or as some commodity to be mined when convenient. My whole humanity was welcomed, and demanded, by our refugio. What a relief to be able to be myself without any need to perform for others’ expectations of me; I felt like I could breathe again.
As young scholars of color (or not), this insight feels especially true as we navigate the world of higher education - particularly in institutions that were not, and are not, built for us. The academy is in many ways ‘the fire’ Cherrie Moraga mentions for us: alternately a place that is enriching and destructive. Where do we find refuge in the academy?
Why Refugios?
Since beginning our doctoral degrees, the common refrain from mentors has been, “find your people” - an urging to find a community of like-minded, supportive colleagues who help shield us from an otherwise demanding - at times ruthless and uncaring - and more often than not white supremacist institution, that has only accepted us in the name of recreational diversity and inclusion.
Find your people. Find refuge. Otherwise, this place will swallow you whole.
In many ways, this says as much about the restorative and radical possibilities of relationships as it does about the troubled foundations of academia. Refugios explain how as scholars we can create a space in which we honor and embrace each other’s full humanity instead of erasing or silencing parts of who we are. It is a space where, based on the idea of non essentialism adopted from LatCrit scholars (Valdes, 2005), the whole person is in constant inner dialogue (with all of our characteristics, race, sexuality, gender, age, experience, nationality, language, culture) and external dialogue (with others). Within refugios, novel ideas often transform or disrupt the dominant perspective flow from these interactions or Xarlas (Lavin, Mock Muñoz de Luna, & Ender, 2018). Because of its raw, brazen approach to knowledge creation/construction, refugios are usually found in the margins (hooks, 1989) where they operate as counter spaces (Yosso, Smith, Ceja, & Solórzano, 2009). By their existence, refugios challenge the dominant narrative on what is a valid research method, or the correct epistemology and ontology.
Using the flame of academia, refugios shine a light on knowledge creators from all over the world (e.g., bell hooks, Linda Tuhiwai Smith, Gloria Anzaldua, Paulo Freire, Homi Bhabha). In refugios, scholars of color (or not) work toward an acceptance of knowledge from the Global South as valid and equal. This is done in community. Thus, challenging the notion of individual success, knowledge creation, and belonging, refugios are in the margins of academia (hooks, 1989). It is in the margins, as a community where we draw our strength from.
We are all refugees of a world on fire; thirty-five years after Moraga first wrote these words, we lean on them to emphasize the ever-present need to move, to seek out places that we can call home, to find connections to each other through our shared experiences. Moraga referred to the immediacy and interconnected, transnational nature of third-world feminisms; through refugios we extend her meaning to encompass the means by which we resist and refuse (Grande, 2018) the stranglehold of white supremacist universities on our onto-epistemological (Anzaldúa, 2015) selves and knowledge creation. Our refugios are located in and with each other.
Find your people, your compañeros. Create refugios. Find those who will be a refugio for you. Find those who will be a refugio with you. Find those who will find refugio in you. Build bridges. Establish Foundations (Trinh, 2019). Write. Do not let the flames consume you. Instead, use the flames to energize you. This is how we resist. This is how we push back. From the margins, we work together to disrupt the dominant narrative that questions the validity of our research, our belonging, and our humanity.
What work is possible in these refugios? Ya veras.
References
Anzaldúa, G. (2015). Luz en el Oscuro: Rewriting Identity, Spirituality, Reality. Durham, NC:Duke University Press.
Grande, S. (2018). Refusing the University. In E. Tuck and K.W. Yang (Eds.), Toward What Justice: Describing Diverse Dreams of Justice in Education (pp. 47-65). New York: Routledge.
hooks, b. (1989). Yearnings: Race, Gender and Cultural Politics. Boston: Southend Press.
Lavin, C., Mock Muñoz de Luna, L. & Ender, T. (2018, November). Pedagogy of refugios: Creating critical spaces in Primarily White Institutions. Paper presented at the American Educational Studies Association Conference, Greenville, SC.
Moraga, C., & Anzaldúa, G., Eds. (1983). This bridge called my back: Writings by radicalwomen of color. Boston, MA: Kitchen Press
Trinh, E., (2019). Building a Foundation of Love: Let’s Write Toward Compassion, Connections, Bridging and Rebornness. Bridges, 1(1).
Valdes, F. (2005). Legal Reform and Social Justice: An Introduction to LatCrit Theory, Praxis and Community. Griffith Law Review, 14(2), 148–173. https://doi.org/10.1080/10383441.2005.10854554
Yosso, T. J., Smith, W. A., Ceja, M., & Solorzano, D. G. (2009). Critical race theory, racial microagressions, and campus racial climate for Latina/o undergraduates. Harvard Educational Review, 79, 659-690. doi: 10.17763/haer.79.4.m6867014157m707l
Biographies:
Carlos is a 3rd year doc student at George Mason University in Special Education. He is interested in learning more about the intersectionality of English learner status and disability for Latinx students. He hopes to find a nice little tenure track faculty position that is good to him and loves him as much as he loves it. Maybe one day they can have a refugio of their own.
Lucía is a 4th year doctoral student at UNC-Chapel Hill's School of Education. She is a member of the Latinx Education Research Hub, and along with her compañerxs, is committed to building a refugio for students, staff, and faculty doing revolutionary work for justice and equity. Lucía also works with the Nour Center, a community school for Syrian and Palestinian youth in Beirut, Lebanon - her dissertation will be written in partnership with the Nour Center, and together they hope to create a piece that focuses on redefining 'refugee education' and re-imagining Palestinian and Syrian futures.