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

In August 11, 2021, 21-year-old UCLA student Brendon Galbreath died in a routine traffic stop in his hometown of Missoula, Montana. Although the police officer fired his gun, it was determined that Brendon died of a self-inflicted gunshot wound. Brendon’s family fought for answers. For weeks, police refused to release body camera footage or the autopsy report. Although forensic evidence determined that Brendon was killed with his own gun, the incident raised questions about mental health, the treatment of Indigenous peoples by police, and lack of police transparency.

Ewing discusses several similar events. Fourteen-year-old Jason Pero was killed by police after allegedly lunging at them with a knife. Renee Davis, who was pregnant, was killed by police even after her partner told officers that she was having a mental health crisis. Zachary Bearheels was reported missing by his mother, who told police that he had bipolar disorder and schizophrenia; when found, he was tasered and dragged by his hair, dying before he arrived at the hospital.

These stories are all the more troubling because they are less publicized. A study conducted in 2014 through 2016 revealed that police encounters involving Indigenous people are drastically unreported. In general, Indigenous stories only make up 0.6% of news coverage while Indigenous peoples make up 3% of the US population.

Indigenous people in the US have been prevented from policing themselves. In 1885, Congress passed the Major Crimes Act, which gave federal courts jurisdiction over offenses committed by Indigenous people, while protecting non-Indigenous people from being punished when committing crimes on Indigenous land.

The combination of police violence against Indigenous peoples, underreporting of Indigenous stories, and the government’s lack of faith in Indigenous people to police their territory perpetuates the idea that Indigenous people are inherently uncivilized, echoing centuries-old views that Indigenous peoples “require the imposition of order by White settlers, or else they would turn to uncontrolled primitive violence” (168-69).

The Major Crimes Act directly affects Indigenous youth. The law allows for minor crimes like robbery or larceny to become federal offenses when committed by Indigenous people. Because of this, almost 20% of young people that are federally arrested are Indigenous. The practice serves as a source of erasure, threatening the lives, cultures, and histories of Indigenous peoples by treating them as inherently needing to be controlled.

Schools curricula reflect similar biases. For example, units about Christopher Columbus celebrate him as a hero, with admiration and “discovery” a core part of his narrative. A study of California’s elementary curriculum found Indigenous people portrayed as the aggressors during the colonial period, while ignoring the brutal warfare waged against them. In contrast, white American revolutionaries were portrayed as heroes who fought colonization. Lessons erase Indigenous peoples’ agency and autonomy, ignoring the impact the invasion had on them. Curricula with these narratives find their roots in Indigenous boarding schools like the previously discussed Carlisle Indian Industrial School, which worked to replace Indigenous culture with whiteness.

The perception that Black children need to be controlled in schools is rooted in slavery. Enslaved people became Black, a sociopolitical category only given meaning by those in power, through subjugation. Slavery was a politically and economically motivated “brutal system of physical control and torture” (186). This system of control centered around the abuse of the body. Formerly enslaved people recounted being tied up, buried, whipped, and experiencing other inhumane abuse. Women lost control of their reproductive abilities and access to their children.

Most narratives of enslavement center on adults, yet children under 10 made up about one-third of enslaved people between 1830 and 1860. They were forced into labor at very young ages and often suffered unique forms of sexual and physical abuse. In Mississippi, a man who was convicted of sexual abuse of an enslaved girl under 10 had his conviction overturned because the act could not legally be considered a crime. An enslaved Black man named Ned was charged with the rape of a nine-year-old white girl (Eunice Thompson), but only the “violation” of a six-year-old enslaved girl (Betty Gordon), as the law did not acknowledge rape for enslaved girls or women.

Black children who committed crimes, some as small as stealing change or a hat, were sent to institutions like Georgia’s Milledgeville State Prison Farm, where children as young as 10 were forced to work in deplorable conditions. When a reform school was suggested as an alternative, Mississippi legislators determined that schooling was pointless for Black children. Labor from prison farms like Milledgeville was often used to build public railroads and roadways.

These examples emphasize the absence of childhood for Black children. Their abuse during enslavement is largely absent from history books, however, the beliefs inspiring this treatment resonate in schools today. In one study, early childhood teachers watched a video of preschoolers to find misbehavior. Although there was none in the video, teachers’ eye movements showed that they’d spent most of the video watching the Black boy, expecting him to act out.

Seventeen US states still allow corporal punishment in schools. Of those states, those with higher white student populations report lower uses of it, while those with majority-Black students—such as Alabama, Mississippi, and Louisiana—are much more likely to use corporal punishment. In some of these states, corporal punishment is used as much as five times more often on Black students than white students.

The internalization of inferiority is propagated through schools by taking away children’s bodily autonomy. For example, the Knowledge is Power Program (KIPP)—the biggest charter school network in the country—teaches strict rules and harsh disciplinary measures. KIPP instructional videos for teachers mandate that students—all Black in the videos—walk in step, stand only in certain spots, remain silent, be constantly attentive, and even maintain a specific posture. These policies reinforce the idea that strict control of Black children is the only way to keep them in line.

In contrast, white, affluent students are taught “independence, exploration, and collaboration” (200). For example, in his 2009 book The Best of the Best, which examines elite boarding schools, Rubén A. Gaztambide-Fernández describes open classrooms, where students engage in dialogue and discussion with little input from the teachers. Ewing’s own affluent high school had no class bells, allowed eating in class, and had music playing between classes. In her college experience, debate and free-thinking were emphasized as key components of learning.

Replacing suspension policies is not enough to disable the school-prison nexus. Instead, schools must reevaluate reliance on punishment and exclusion. Ewing argues for creative solutions to discover the root of transgressions, instead of reactionary violence to try to control them.