Original Sins: The (Mis)education of Black and Native Children and the Construction of American Racism

Ewing concludes that it is not enough to identify the problems that Black and Indigenous students face today. However, she admits that she does not have a conclusive solution. Just like the Indigenous students in Louise Erdrich’s poem “Indian Boarding School: The Runaways,” Ewing suggests readers head toward an answer “even when we’re not sure how to get there” (250).

Ewing again affirms her decision to look at Black and Indigenous histories side by side to fully engage with the foundations of capitalism that have shaped our country. Scholars who only study one group ignore the “hierarchical ladder” founded on genocide and slavery that has placed both groups at the bottom.

Ewing reminds the reader that Black and Indigenous histories are deeply intertwined in positive ways. Indigenous and escaping enslaved people formed “Creole” societies. The city of Chicago was founded by a Potawatomi woman and a Black man. The Black Panther Party and the American Indian Movement protested together and celebrated their successes together. However, these two groups have also harmed each other as white supremacy pits Othered groups against each other to exploit their struggles for its gain. Black soldiers fought in colonial wars to displace Indigenous people, while five Indigenous tribes enslaved Black people to garner the approval of the US government. 

Understanding this difficult history is the only way to overcome it. Black and Indigenous peoples need to treat each other with an “ethic of care,” working “in solidarity” (254). Because the destruction of both groups is vital to white supremacy, it is logical that their cooperation could bring down that supremacy. Solidarity is not a state of constant peace or agreement, but rather a work in progress where both groups learn from each other. As a teacher and a Black feminist, Ewing strongly believes in the idea of caring for one another, while creating space to struggle, fail, and learn. This approach will lead to new solutions.

The path to change begins in schools. Small acts like changing the name of a school or creating a book club on social justice do not create real change. Instead, Ewing argues for reimagining school structure. If schools acknowledge biases against Black and Indigenous students and the harms of the way they are tracked, then they can be rebuilt in a way that celebrates Black and Indigenous history. We should aim to create schools that celebrate instead of punish; teach instead of degrade; and value the importance of land stewardship, histories, languages, and cultures.

Ewing closes with two metaphors. In Paulo Freire’s “banking model” of education, teachers invest in their students like bank depositors, with both expecting large returns. 

The second metaphor is from botanist Robin Wall Kimmerer’s Braiding Sweetgrass (2013). Just as braiding is a process in tandem between two people—one holds the sweetgrass, while the other braids—so too should education be viewed as a partnership. Braiding also connects to Black and Indigenous hair, long been a source of pride but also punishment. The act of braiding requires time, attention, and trust between the two people involved. Education should also emphasize these values while creating a bond between Black and Indigenous groups, and also between students and educators. Love and care are central to the act of braiding. Black and Indigenous students have been mistreated and ignored for centuries, so it is now vital to place their care at the core of our learning institutions. The pieces are there to build a better education system; they just need to be braided together.