Abstract

Children’s voices and experiences are often marginalized in Early Childhood Education and Care (ECEC) systems, shaped by colonial legacies, whiteness, and neoliberal frameworks. This paper establishes the concept of “white childhoods,” a framework critiquing how whiteness operates as an invisible standard in ECEC systems, privileging Western, white, middle-class norms while marginalizing non-Western, racialized, and migrant children. Drawing on speculative imagination and fictional interviews inspired by lived realities, this paper critiques linguistic assimilation, cultural erasure, and integrationist discourses within ECEC.

Through a dual approach, the paper first critiques the present-day implications of white childhoods and then proposes abolitionist, feminist, and anti-colonial alternatives. Using future-oriented speculative interviews, the paper envisions relational and communal systems of care that prioritize cultural diversity, joy, and equity. This work seeks to move beyond reform, imagining an ECEC system unbound by colonial and patriarchal constraints, fostering liberation and well-being for all children and families. The paper argues for the necessity of decolonial and abolitionist perspectives to reimagine ECEC, advocating for systems that celebrate rather than erase the cultural identities of marginalized communities.

A Note on Speculation

The following speculative narratives are not fiction, but neither are they just reality. They are grounded in lived experiences derived from interviews with Syrian mothers and ethnographic observations of families navigating early childhood education and care (ECEC) systems in Belgium, Germany, and the Netherlands. They are built from lived experiences, sharpened by speculative imagination, as a method of refusal. They expose the persistent realities of linguistic exclusion, institutional whiteness, and contested belonging. They not only expose but are also intended to unsettle and demand something more than mere reform. By blending empirical research with speculative imagination, this study highlights the realities of racialised childhoods and envisions alternatives to integrationist policies.

The Worlds We Build in Childhood

Childhood is a constructed world shaped by power dynamics—defining who is seen as innocent and who belongs (Burman 2008). ECEC systems not only nurture but regulate, determining which languages and emotions are valid. These spaces enforce whiteness subtly through integration policies and expectations of assimilation.

What if we reject the very premise that racialised children must fit into these systems? What if we stop forcing children to fit within systems that were not built for them? What if we refuse to make them smaller, more legible, more manageable? This paper seeks to unsettle existing structures through narratives that emerge from migrant families' experiences, framing education as a site of struggle, loss, and reinvention (Wynter 2003; Bhattacharya 2017; Love and Muhammad 2020).

Prologue: Worlds That Are and Could Be

Mahmoud clutches his colourful lunchbox as he steps into the classroom, feeling the weight of every expectation pressing against him. The air is thick with the scent of glue, wooden toys, and a faint antiseptic smell that pricks at his senses. His teacher greets him with a smile, but when she utters his name—Ma-hoo-mood—it lands awkwardly like a small stone jarring his step. There is hesitance within him, a silent conflict—should he correct her mispronunciation or let it remain, marking him as different? He chooses silence, allowing the error to linger like an unsettled chord in the background of his day.

In this state-funded kindergarten in Germany, every detail is arranged precisely. Little chairs are set out in meticulous rows, the distance between their legs echoing an unyielding order. Colour-coded name tags sway on hooks like fragments of a rainbow, each a reminder of a small, unique soul—if only his were fully recognised. A cheerful song about the days of the week fills the room: Montag, Dienstag, Mittwoch… Mahmoud sings along, yet each word feels awkward, an ill-fitting piece in the puzzle of his identity. At home, Arabic drapes the rooms in comfort and enchantment. His mother's voice weaves magical tales at bedtime—stories of Djinns who whisper ancient secrets with the wind and a love story between the moon and a girl living among olive trees. Yet, in this space, Arabic is relegated to the corner like an old coat, left behind with his rain boots and memories of home. Whenever he tries to share a piece of that world—Mama tells me of the moon and Djinns—his teacher's gentle but firm reminder echoes in his mind: Auf Deutsch, Mahmoud. German is supposed to be the language of belonging, yet it feels like a shackle binding him to a place where his valid words are misplaced, relegated to the margins as secondary, as something foreign.

During group time, when the teacher holds up a vibrant book about a bear setting off on a grand adventure, she asks, "Who can tell me what the bear is feeling?" As eager hands shoot up, each proclaiming words like excited, scared, and brave, Mahmoud feels his emotions churn beneath the surface. Deep inside, he recognises the stirring of the right feeling—one that in Arabic would be mutaraddid, a word rich with the texture of hesitation, like teetering on the precipice of a plunge—but in German, the word slips away, leaving him conflicted and voiceless as another child claims the moment.

Later, at pickup time, Mahmoud's confusion grows as he overhears two teachers near the door, their quiet conversation mixing praise with a subtle reprimand. "He is doing well," they murmur about him, but then note that the language remains Arabic at home. It is portrayed as a slowdown, as if anything other than German is an obstacle. Their smiles for his mother are polite yet strained, like thin plastic stretched to the breaking point—ready to snap if challenged. Walking home under the long shadows of the late afternoon sun, his lunchbox sways by his side like a silent witness to his inner turmoil. Mahmoud ponders beneath conflicted thoughts: do the Djinns whisper secrets in Arabic or German? A sigh escapes him, a small concession to uncertainty. 'Djinns probably speak German,' he thinks, though the conviction warps beneath the tension of his divided heart.

Sara's Speculative Future

The school has no walls, unlike Mahmoud's school. It is not even called a school! Here, the wind flows freely, carrying children's voices from one learning space to the next. Some kids sit cross-legged on woven mats, while others climb the low branches of a fig tree, their laughter mingling across languages. Sara listens as her teacher speaks, not with one voice but with many. "In my village, we gather on rooftops to tell stories when the moon is full," she says in Somali. "In my city, the moon seems to follow you home," another teacher adds in French. When it is Sara's turn, she sits up straight. "My grandmother says the moon once loved a girl who lived among olive trees," she says in Arabic. No one tells her to choose a different language or corrects her choice of words.

The learning space (previously called schools/kindergartens, and the list goes on) is a circle, a constellation of learning spaces where children transition between stories, music, and movement. Today, they are mapping rivers—both those that still exist and those that have vanished. Some children carve their courses into the sand, while others trace them on a digital map. Sara listens to a classmate talk about the river that flowed through his grandmother's town, a place now missing from official maps. "And what do we do with lost rivers?" the teacher asks. "We let them crave new paths," a child replies. "We fload the places that forgot them," says another. At lunchtime, the children gather around a large table. There is no division between those who eat first and those who wait. They pass plates, share food, and tell stories. A boy asks Sara how to say moon in Arabic. She smiles. "Qamar". He repeats it, savouring the sound. "What about in Somali?" someone asks. "Dayax," a girl replies. "And in French?" "Lune." The words drift among them, unhurried, finding new rhythms as they pass from one person to another.

Later, when Sara gazes at the moonlight, a fierce longing grips her heart. She wonders if the moon would be captivated by her, if it would fall madly in love with her, should she also dwell among the ancient, whispering olive trees.

Why This Matters

Mahmoud's world reflects the constraints of white childhoods, while Sara's embodies a potential future of radical acceptance. One structure is rigid, requiring specific keys to access belonging; the other is shaped by multiplicity and care. The question remains: Do we dare to build Sara's world?

White Childhood as a Structuring Force

A child enters a warm, inviting classroom that appears neutral on the surface, with posters of smiling children, colourful books, and a neatly arranged alphabet chart. However, an unspoken dynamic shapes the notions of belonging: Who moves effortlessly? Whose name is uttered with ease? Who never questions their place?

This paper examines white childhoods as a structuring force in ECEC systems in the Netherlands, Belgium, and Germany. Whiteness is not just a demographic category; it shapes perceptions of belonging and innocence, marginalising other childhoods while creating a subtle violence of belonging.

Defining White Childhoods

To grasp how whiteness shapes ECEC, we must challenge its presumed neutrality. White childhoods, as identified in childhood studies and decolonial thought, reflect the racialised and colonial conditions framing the concept of childhood (Abebe et al. 2022). Burman (2008) discusses how developmental psychology historically depicts the universal child through Eurocentric perspectives, establishing whiteness as the norm. European ECEC policies maintain whiteness not through blatant exclusion but through daily practices—linguistic hierarchies, classroom dynamics, and affective economies of care (Blommaert 2010; Pacini-Ketchabaw and Taylor 2015). Wynter (2003) advocates for a rupture from the coloniality of being, questioning the notion that some childhoods are more human than others. ECEC systems function as sites of racial ordering, subtly reinforcing whiteness through language, policy, and pedagogy (Pacini-Ketchabaw and Taylor 2015).

Thus, white childhoods encompass who is visible and how visibility is structured. Whiteness permeates institutions in seemingly benevolent ways—through integration policies, linguistic standards, and pedagogical methods—while simultaneously entrenching who is consistently out of sync, out of place, and out of time within the classroom.

Case Studies: The Netherlands, Belgium, and Germany

Each of these countries exemplifies distinct manifestations of whiteness in ECEC.

Belgium: Language as a Racial Border

In Belgium, whiteness operates through linguistic hierarchies rather than explicit exclusion. While multilingualism is promoted at elite levels, racialised communities face barriers. Schools view non-European multilingualism as a deficit, reinforcing educational access barriers (Jaspers 2008; Blommaert 2013). Whiteness is enforced through linguistic regulation, framing proficiency in Dutch and or French depending on the region as essential for belonging.

Germany: The Conditions of Belonging

In Germany, whiteness requires controlled assimilation, focusing on behavioural and emotional integration. Migrant children may maintain some cultural identity, provided it aligns with dominant norms. Whiteness creates a system of conditional inclusion, where migrant children must display the "right" emotional expressions to belong (Ahmed 2012; El-Tayeb 2011).

The Netherlands: Multiculturalism Under Surveillance

The Netherlands portrays itself as a multicultural society, yet its Early Childhood Education and Care (ECEC) system reflects a controlled diversity that prioritises whiteness (Essed and Hoving 2014). Unlike Belgium's linguistic barriers and Germany's behavioural integration, Dutch ECEC policies accept diversity only when it does not challenge national identity (Wekker 2016). While Moroccan-Dutch and Surinamese-Dutch children see themselves in educational materials, their sense of belonging remains conditional (Ghorashi 2010).

Multilingualism is promoted in ways that uphold notions of Dutchness, indicating a trend of managing diversity rather than genuinely embracing it (Yildiz 2012; Wekker 2016). The presence of "black" and "white" schools highlights how race impacts educational belonging despite official multicultural claims (Ghorashi 2010). In Dutch ECEC, differences are curated within a framework of national belonging (Kundnani 2014).

Comparing Whiteness Across Contexts

In Belgium, whiteness is established through linguistic gatekeeping, positioning racialised children as linguistically deficient (Jaspers 2008; Blommaert 2013). In Germany, racism is evident through behavioural integration, requiring migrant children to conform to cultural norms (El-Tayeb 2011). In the Netherlands, racialised children can only be visible if they do not disrupt Dutch identity (Wekker 2016), as exemplified by Moroccan-Dutch children's provisional belonging (Ghorashi 2010). This paper critiques these structures and explores how to dismantle them. If white childhoods ration belonging, what is needed to create an education based on unconditional care? What if we envisioned learning as relational, multilingual, and detached from national identities? Through speculative imagination and fictionalised interviews, this paper challenges the adherence of ECEC to whiteness, seeking a rupture that opens new possibilities (Pacini-Ketchabaw and Taylor 2015).

The question is not whether other futures are possible, but rather: Which future do we choose to make real?

Postcolonial Continuities: ECEC as a Civilising Mission

Colonial logics persist in contemporary ECEC policies, framing migrant and racialised children as needing integration. The shift from civilising to inclusion does not alter the underlying function: some childhoods require intervention to align with national and European norms (Abebe et al. 2022). Belgium, Germany, and the Netherlands have enacted different versions of this postcolonial ordering.

ECEC and the Reproduction of Racial Hierarchies

ECEC plays a central role in reproducing racial capitalism, producing the next generation of workers and citizens (Bhattacharya 2017). Childhood is stratified: some children are prepared for leadership, while others are trained for compliance, reinforcing racial hierarchies.

Defining Some Children as "At Risk"

Racialised children are often deemed in need of support, not due to inherent differences, but because ECEC frameworks are based on white, middle-class norms. The assumption that non-white, non-European children need monitoring reflects colonial policies.

Reinforcing Gendered Labour Expectations

The structuring of childhood intersects with gendered expectations. Migrant mothers are often seen as obstacles, blamed for their children's educational challenges, obscuring how racial capitalism forces them into precarity (Hooks 2000).

Securing the Future of Whiteness

ECEC shapes racialised and migrant children as subjects of the nation-state, securing white childhoods and maintaining national identity tied to European heritage.

Speculative Imagination as an Abolitionist Methodology

Speculative imagination is not an escape from reality; it contests its limits. It unsettles what seems inevitable and reaches for unrealised worlds already present in the fissures of this one. If white childhoods shape early education as a mechanism of belonging and exclusion, speculative imagination disrupts, reroutes, and dreams otherwise. It is abolitionist because it envisions the elimination of a violent system rather than seeking reform.

Why Speculative Imagination?

Traditional methodologies document oppression effectively, but do they envision the necessary conditions for dismantling such structures? Trafford (2019) argues that harm within racial capitalism is designed, while Puar (2017) theorises that non-belonging is an active process of assimilation into harm. In ECEC, racialised children are subjects to be improved, leading to questions of how much they must erase to belong. Speculative imagination alters this inquiry by asking what happens if the order itself is dismantled.

Fictional Interviews as Methodology

This study incorporates 27 interviews with Syrian mothers navigating ECEC systems in Belgium, Germany, and the Netherlands, examining how these systems influence belonging and integration. Findings reveal issues such as linguistic policing and cultural erasure within integrationist policies. The study combines empirical research with speculative imagination, revealing how institutional whiteness produces non-belonging among racialised children and challenging reformist frameworks. Fictional interviews are structured through three layers: direct observations, thematic synthesis, and speculative transformation. This refusal methodology rejects the constraints of realism, demanding generative knowledge-making to create alternative futures.

Speculative Imagination as Abolition

Abolitionist thought advocates for dismantling harmful structures. In ECEC, this means rejecting the notion of making racialised children fit into neglectful schools and envisioning education free from extraction and surveillance. Speculative imagination offers hopeful alternatives, revealing futures where the state does not control education, colonial legacies do not dictate care, and childhood is a shared right. These futures require struggle, imagination, and the courage to challenge prevailing beliefs. Thus, speculative imagination embodies the essence of abolition.

Empirical and Speculative Interventions

Beyond Linguistic Assimilation: Language as Resistance

Present: Belgium's Linguistic Hierarchy and the Marginalisation of Migrant Children

Belgium's linguistic divide between French and Dutch creates political tension and serves as a mechanism of exclusion for migrant and Black children in early childhood education and care (ECEC) (Blommaert and Rampton 2015). Proficiency in one of the dominant languages dictates access to quality education, framing non-European languages as obstacles rather than assets. Policies prioritising Dutch or French marginalise languages like Arabic, Turkish, and Lingala, relegating them to private contexts and reinforcing a racialised linguistic hierarchy (Jaspers 2008). Children are expected to adapt to the national linguistic order while their linguistic realities are dismissed (Blommaert 2013; Pulinx et al. 2017).

Theoretical Intervention: Linguistic Imperialism, Capital, and Fluid Identities

Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o (1986) critiques linguistic imperialism as a colonial tool that erases indigenous and migrant knowledge. Bourdieu (1991) views language as capital, where linguistic dominance affects social mobility, conferring legitimacy on some while devaluing others. Blommaert (2010) explains how language within power structures shapes knowledge production and identity. In ECEC, linguistic hierarchies not only segregate by language but also reinforce racial and cultural dominance, determining which children succeed and which remain marginalised. If linguistic exclusion characterises white childhoods, what would it mean to create a learning space where language is a shared, evolving practice rather than a gatekeeper? This question encourages us to envision alternative ways of engaging with language and each other.

Speculative Future: A Multilingual Space Without Borders

Imagine an Early Childhood Education and Care (ECEC) system where language fosters belonging rather than exclusion. In this vision, learning environments embrace translanguaging, enabling children to switch fluidly between languages without punishment (García and Wei 2014). Dutch, French, Arabic, Somali, and Turkish are equally valued. Learning becomes relational, with stories shared in multiple languages and children engaging in mutual translation. Here, national and linguistic hierarchies fade, replaced by a network of linguistic sovereignty where no child must choose between visibility and survival.

Beyond Neoliberal Care: Relational and Collective Models

Present: The Netherlands and the Individualisation of Childcare

Despite its progressive social policies, the Netherlands' ECEC model operates within a neoliberal framework that marginalises migrant families. Mothers, particularly those from racialised and working-class backgrounds, face economic pressures requiring both waged work and adherence to intensive Western mothering practices (Nomaguchi and Milkie 2020). Migrant families are also expected to conform to Dutch childcare norms, where state-defined success often predetermines a child's future long before they can self-determine (Kremer 2007).

Theoretical Intervention: Ethics of Care, African Feminism, and Policing Childhood

Tronto (1993) critiques Western ethics of care as an individualised, moralistic endeavour, advocating instead for care as a collective responsibility (Mohanty 2003). Oyewumi (1997) presents African feminist perspectives that challenge Western family norms, which isolate caregiving roles. As discussed by Ramose (1999), Ubuntu emphasises relational interdependence, opposing neoliberal narratives of self-sufficiency. Angela Davis (2003) connects the policing of Black and migrant childhoods to broader carceral systems, arguing that Early Childhood Education and Care (ECEC) functions as a site of early social control rather than liberation. Instead of reforming these exclusionary systems, what if we refused to adhere to their rules? What if care is considered a collective practice, free from market logic and state oversight?

Speculative Future: Abolishing the Policing of Childhood, Reclaiming Care

In this envisioned future, ECEC transforms from a fragmented service burdening mothers into a cooperative model based on collective labour (Glenn 2010). Childcare is reconceptualised as a shared practice, drawing on the knowledge of migrant communities rather than imposing external frameworks. Care is redefined as a reciprocal relationship, free from surveillance and state-imposed metrics, allowing knowledge to flourish outside institutional constraints.

Beyond Inclusion: The Trap of Liberal Multiculturalism

Present: Germany's Selective Embrace of Diversity

Germany serves as a multicultural model, showcasing visible diversity while controlling political belonging. In ECEC, this results in symbolic inclusion—while Eid may be acknowledged, discussions on migration or anti-racism are heavily policed. Migrant children are expected to integrate into German identity while only retaining acceptable aspects of their heritage. Inclusion is conditional, reinforcing rather than destabilising whiteness (Ahmed 2012; Puwar 2004; Gilroy 2004).

Theoretical Intervention: Whiteness as Flexible Exclusion

Sara Ahmed (2012) examines how diversity discourse reinforces institutional whiteness, incorporating racialised bodies only as long as they do not challenge existing hierarchies. Puwar (2004) introduces the idea of 'space invaders,' wherein racialised individuals are allowed into predominantly white spaces but lack full acceptance. Gilroy (2004) critiques European multiculturalism for commodifying differences while sustaining racial hierarchies.

Speculative Future: Celebration as Political Power

A future is envisioned where celebration becomes a political force, with migrant communities asserting their sovereignty rather than seeking inclusion in white nationhood. Educational spaces evolve from merely recognising Eid to becoming sites of decolonial political education, where children engage with histories of displacement, resistance, and survival. Citizenship is reconceptualised as a practice of collective self-determination rather than a state-conferred legal status. The nation-state loses its monopoly on belonging, which instead resides with the people (Kundnani 2014).

Abolitionist Futures: Reimagining ECEC as a Decolonial Practice

Multiculturalism is not freedom nor liberation; it is a holding cell, a leash. It confines racialised children within whiteness without fully integrating them. It tells racialised children they can stay so long as they do not pull too hard. It offers visibility without agency and tolerance without transformation, suggesting that inclusion is sufficient (Wekker 2016; Ghorashi 2010). However, inclusion is not justice; it expands the racial logic of the system, ensuring that racialised children learn their place: welcomed but never at home. Angela Davis (2003) reminds us that abolition is about creating something entirely new. Liberal multiculturalism fails to be liberatory (McLeod 2018); it manages whiteness and absorbs racialised children into a framework of conditional belonging.

Why beg for a softer cage? Why plead for a room in a house built to contain us? What if we walked away and built something that was never meant to be owned? What if we stopped trying to fit into the master's house? What if we burned it down instead?

Abolitionist early childhood education does not seek to make whiteness accommodating; it rejects it as the default. Rather than better representation within existing structures, abolition demands an epistemic rupture—the complete rejection of a system never meant to serve racialised communities (Stovall 2018). Instead of integrating marginalised children, abolition asks: What does education look like outside the logics of racial capitalism? How do we create spaces of learning that do not require assimilation into whiteness? (Ben-Mosche 2013; Cullors 2018). Multicultural education suggests that more diversity and reform will fix inequities. Abolition teaches us that representation is not enough when the structure is violent. In Belgium, language policies dictate belonging (Blommaert 2013). In Germany, migrant children must perform cultural legibility (El-Tayeb 2011). In the Netherlands, diversity is celebrated only if it does not threaten national identity (Gerrard et al. 2022). These systems regulate and contain rather than simply exclude.

Abolition refuses this containment, demanding a new perspective on education—one that starts with the necessity of destruction and reconstruction. As Love and Muhammad (2020) argue, abolitionist education is a practice of disruption, agitation, and collective world-building. It does not seek state permission or institutional validation. It is already happening in underground networks, radical childcare spaces, and communities that know true education exists outside the violence of the nation-state (Neal and Dunn 2020).

What if we stopped asking for better conditions in the master's house?
What if we set fire to the foundation and built something entirely our own?

A fire crackles at the gathering's heart, casting shadows as generations weave stories of past and present. The elders' calm voices reveal history as both a lesson and a warning.

Elder Amina: "They call it education; we call it a cage—a relentless mechanism ensuring we march in unison, reciting their dictated words and absorbing their narratives—stories that belonged to them, never to us."

Nia, a caregiver and storyteller: "They used terms like 'integration' and 'inclusion,' but only if we moulded ourselves to fit their structures. We faced the daunting task of teaching our children to navigate a world intent on breaking them. This world posed formidable challenges, demanding resilience where shadows loomed, casting doubt and fear. Despite the odds, they had to learn to fiercely hold onto their light."

Malik, a young historian: "And when we refused? When we spoke our languages, loved loudly, and rejected gratitude for crumbs? They called it a failure—or worse, danger. They claimed we were unfit, that we did not belong."

Leila, a child, tilted her head: "But we belong now?"

The elders smile. The world around them holds the answer: no fences, no forms, no permissions. Knowledge flows freely across generations, as it always should. Children are cared for by many, not confined to institutions. Learning follows the rhythm of seasons, needs, and joys.

Nia: "We stopped seeking access and built autonomy. They claimed care had to come from above—from the state or market. We remembered our ways."

Malik: "The shift was difficult. They insisted that without their institutions, we would fall apart. However, those institutions had kept us apart, turning care into currency, love into labour, and childhood into a property of the nation-state."

Elder Amina: "So we burned their blueprints and made our own."

The structures that once shaped our lives—schools, welfare offices, border controls—were not reformed but abandoned. We did not seek permission to build anew; we began. They now speak of shared care not as a service to be bought but as a commitment. Learning is no longer divided by age or worth. The structures that once policed them—schools, borders, welfare bureaucracies—are gone, transformed into something entirely new.

Elder Amina: "They thought the end of their world meant chaos. Nevertheless, look around—what do you see?"

Leila: "I see people. Together."

Nia: "No more mandates. No more proving who deserves help. No more welfare systems that punish, no more childcare centres where love is measured in funding. Just us, returning to each other."

The old world tried to contain them within its definitions. Diversity was marketable, and inclusion was conditional.

Malik: "They welcomed us, but only on their terms. Our holidays were acknowledged while our histories were erased. Our presence was celebrated, but our power was denied. They gave us celebrations but never power."

Elder Amina: "They tolerated us but never allowed us to shape the world. So we stopped waiting for permission! So we took back what was already ours."

Leila: "Did they fight you?"

Nia: "Oh, they tried. They called it dangerous and unrealistic. Said we were undoing civilisation itself. And, maybe we were."

Malik: "But their civilisation was never meant for us. We walked away from their borders, laws, classrooms, and prisons."

Leila: "So how did we do it?"

Elder Amina: "We stopped trying to fix their world. We decided to stop patching up the ruins of a system that was not fair, and we grew something wild and untamed! We built our own."

They discuss how it happened—not through one great revolution but through countless acts of defiance and care. People withdrew from institutions that never served them. Communities chose each other over the state, rejecting surveillance and dismantling the belief that belonging must be earned.

Elder Amina: "And we dreamed—together, we refused the idea that liberation must be  negotiated!"

References

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Journal Articles & Book Chapters:

29. Ben-Moshe, L. (2013) 'The tension between abolition and reform', in The End of Prisons, pp. 83-92. Brill.

30. Cullors, P. (2018) 'Abolition and reparations', Harvard Law Review, 131(2), pp. 156-172.

31. Ghorashi, H. (2010) 'From absolute invisibility to extreme visibility: Emancipation trajectory of migrant women in the Netherlands', Feminist Review, 94(1), pp. 75-92.

32. Gerrard, J., Sriprakash, A. and Rudolph, S. (2022) 'Education and racial capitalism', Race Ethnicity and Education, 25(3), pp. 425-442.

33. Jaspers, J. (2008) 'Problematising ethnolects: Naming linguistic practices in an Antwerp secondary school', International Journal of Bilingualism, 12(1-2), pp. 85-103.

34. Love, B. L. and Muhammad, G. E. (2020) 'What do we have to lose: Toward disruption, agitation, and abolition in Black education', International Journal of Qualitative Studies in Education, 33(7), pp. 695-697.

35. McLeod, A. (2018) 'Envisioning abolition democracy', Social Text, 36(1), pp. 29-56.

36. Neal, A. M. and Dunn, D. C. (2020) 'Our ancestors' wildest dreams: (Re)membering the freedom dreams of Black women abolitionist teachers', Journal of Curriculum Theorizing, 35(4), pp. 59-73.

37. Nomaguchi, K. and Milkie, M. A. (2020) Parenthood and well-being: A decade in review. Journal of Marriage and Family, 82(1), pp.198-223.

38. Pulinx, R., Van Avermaet, P. and Airdag, O. (2015) ‘Silencing linguistic diversity: the extent, the determinants and consequences of the monolingual beliefs of Flemish teachers’, International Journal of Bilingual Education and Bilingualism, 20(5), pp. 542–556. doi: 10.1080/13670050.2015.1102860 

39. Stovall, D. (2018) 'Are we ready for 'school' abolition?: Thoughts and practices of radical imaginary in education', Taboo: The Journal of Culture and Education, 17(1), p. 6.