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Content Warning: This section of the guide includes discussion of racism.
Ewing opens this chapter explaining that the formation and success of the capitalist society US was contingent upon the use of Black and Indigenous bodies. A lower class and inequality are key components of capitalism. While most people believe that education and hard work enable anyone to achieve the American Dream of social mobility, this ideal is disproportionately untrue for Black and Indigenous peoples.
The connection between wealth and education is actually more nuanced. Ewing points out that the “typical White family possesses eight times the wealth of the typical Black family” (210). Moreover, higher education is much more accessible for white children. Even then, white adults with college degrees still earn three times more than Black adults with similar degrees on average. Finally, a Black head of household with a bachelor’s degree is likely to be less wealthy than a white head of household that didn’t finish high school.
How can education, supposedly a key component of the American Dream, fail so spectacularly at creating equal opportunity? One answer to this question is discrimination in employment. Several studies have shown that white job applicants frequently get jobs over Black applicants. In one study, 240 men of different backgrounds were sent across New York City to apply for jobs. They all applied for entry-level jobs, used identical fake resumes, and even dressed the same. White men were twice as likely to receive callbacks. In another study, the same resume—but under different names—was sent out to potential employers. Resumes from applicants with “Black-sounding” names were less likely to get a response.
Economist Raj Chetty studied census and tax data for over 20 million Americans to track economic mobility—how likely children were to become more financially successful than their parents. The study found that upward mobility is generally stagnant; children typically remain at the same level as their parents. However, for Black and Indigenous families, downward mobility was much more frequent. In contrast, other non-white groups had upward mobility comparable to white families—meaning that their economic status was slowly improving.
Generational wealth transfer—such as inheritance or more informal assistance like parents paying for a car or college tuition—accounts for some of this disparity. Children in white families receive significantly more such support than children in Black families. Data from the 1990s shows that one in four White families passed down an average of $145,000 to their children; just one in 20 Black families passed down an average of $42,000. Another way to pass down wealth is through home ownership. Historically, Black homes have been significantly devalued because of their presence in neighborhoods perceived as less desirable based on their surrounding communities and schools.
Ewing acknowledges that there are certainly also cases of downward mobility within white families, with significant generational wealth passed down in Black families, and examples of people earning high incomes despite coming from disadvantaged backgrounds. However, these are outliers to prevailing trends, which demonstrate that family and circumstances of birth play as key a role in achieving material success as hard work or education.
Wealth accumulation in white families is directly tied to slavery and colonialism. While southern plantations profited directly, even northern institutions like banks, insurance companies, agricultural companies, and more profited by supporting slavery. For example, the New York Life insurance company sold policies covering enslaved people to establish its business, while investment bankers like the Lehman brothers started their careers in cotton brokerage. Ewing argues that “the ascendance of the entire American economy was spurred by the institution of slavery” (219).
At the same time, westward expansion was done mainly by white citizens, who participated in the capture and genocide of Indigenous peoples, took Indigenous lands, and also profited by dismantling and selling off Indigenous homes and even digging up Indigenous deceased to sell parts for study. The 1887 Dawes Act further compounded the issue: To break up tribes to quell resistance and enforce white standards of land ownership, the Act divvied up communally held Indigenous land into parcels granted to individual Indigenous families via trusts. Some of this land is still being held in trust to this day, hindering Indigenous wealth by not allowing ostensible owners to sell, use their homes as capital, or participate in the housing market. Elouise Cobell, a Blackfoot woman, sued the US government on behalf of thousands of Indigenous people for proceeds from the trust. In 2009, the government settled the case for $3.4 billion—but a large portion of potential beneficiaries had already passed away.
These examples highlight how generational wealth, possibility, and autonomy have been taken from Indigenous peoples. Today, Indigenous people have the highest unemployment and poverty rates of any racial group in the US. They have low educational attainment rates and higher rates of disability. Moreover, studying Indigenous wealth is difficult: Much data is missing from public record, contributing to Indigenous erasure.
Outcomes of the United States university system also cast doubt on the idea that education is a creator of equal opportunity. In 1862, the Morrill Land Grant College Act dedicated land in each state for university use. As a result, 52 new universities were created and over $22 million was accumulated through the sale and use of these lands by universities. The land came directly from Indigenous peoples. However, the student body of these institutions is less than .5% Indigenous. This example represents “direct wealth transfer,” as “violent land seizure turned into institutional wealth for universities” then into “individual and family wealth” only for white students (226).
Prestigious universities also have direct relationships with enslavement: They were built and staffed using enslaved people, built on land donated by enslavers, and leased land to plantation owners. Ewing argues that universities expanding in large cities perpetuate this today by driving out Black residents through gentrification.
During her teacher preparation classes, Ewing once evaluated minority students’ performance and their relegation to vocational “tracks.” One of her fellow aspiring teachers commented that “at the end of the day, somebody’s got to mow the lawn” (230). Ewing notes his implication: That this is how things have always been for “somebody”—a specific group of students. To this day, Black and Indigenous students are significantly more likely to be placed into vocational tracks.
Capitalist societies are typically built on the backs of specific groups of people. Violence against these groups drives wealth, establishing a system of racial order. Scholar Cedric J. Robinson refers to this as “racial capitalism”—the idea that capitalist wealth cannot exist without systems of racial exploitation. Schools replicate this idea through low expectations for Black and Indigenous students, which normalizes funneling them into careers that fit their “innate” intelligence level.
Studies have shown that teacher expectations, grading, and recommendations for advanced classes are tied to perceived race. In a study of 752 schools, Black students were significantly more likely to seek education beyond high school when they had a Black teacher. In another study, 126 white teachers provided feedback on a fake essay with obvious errors; they gave more positive feedback when they thought the student was Black, highlighting their lower expectations for Black students. In a third study, 152 counselors evaluated a transcript under different names that implied different race—a student perceived to be Black was consistently the least likely to be recommended for advanced courses.
The quality of a school is directly tied to community wealth because public schools are partially funded by property taxes. Majority-white communities thus typically have better funded schools. The GI Bill—a law helping veterans purchase a home—has affected Black veterans significantly less, since they often also face home purchasing roadblocks like redlining and segregation. Similarly, the GI Bill does not support the purchase of homes on Indigenous land. This limits Black and Indigenous access to affluent schools, eroding generational wealth and future opportunities.
Property accumulation is a cornerstone of capitalist society. Property ownership was one of the initial qualifiers for citizenship in Europe; in the US, it gave people good social standing and the right to vote. Today, homeownership still serves as a marker of social status.
When slavery ended, a primary concern was the perceived “idleness” of formerly enslaved people: Would Black people embrace capitalist values like the desire to work, accumulate, and increase one’s property? To address this, sociologists used schools. Textbooks during Reconstruction emphasized the importance of working to earn money, and that newly free Black people should earn more than they need. One text, Plain Counsels for Freedmen (1866), caricatures Black people described as “fools who were content to go out having fun” as a cautionary tale (239). Another links working as hard as possible to earn extra money to proper masculinity.
However, these precepts stood in direct contrast to how free Black people felt. Instead of growing fields of crops to sell, they focused on growing food for their families. They avoided the work they were previously forced to do, expressing open disdain for the cotton industry. In response, white southerners again turned to schools. In Louisiana, General Nathaniel P. Banks established a Board of Education with the explicit goal of creating a labor force. He intentionally built schools near plantations, driving Black people away from the city and toward agriculture. Teachers were instructed to give only rudimentary instruction to students, who could only attend until age 12—when they would then be used for labor.
Indigenous peoples’ views of land holding clashed with capitalist values. They believed in stewardship of the land, rather than ownership, further marking them as uncivilized in the view of the American government. Additionally, Indigenous views largely emphasized the collective, in contrast to the emphasis on American individualism. Pratt, the Carlisle School founder, referred to the Indigenous perspective as socialism, while William Torrey Harris—Commissioner of Education under four Presidents—argued that Indigenous peoples relied too much on community.
Officials turned to schools to change Indigenous peoples’ ideas. The education of Indigenous students thus focused on the importance of owning land and caring for it for profit. Teaching students literacy and science was secondary and only insofar as it applied to agriculture. Like schools for Black children, Indigenous schools were intentionally built near fields, where children could be sent to work as free labor each day.
Today, schools continue to train Black and Indigenous students to fill their perceived role in society. Expectations are lower and tracking prevents students from exceeding those expectations. Meanwhile, the capitalist system is designed to limit their wealth while exploiting their labor to expand the wealth of the white population.
In Part 4, Ewing explores her third pillar: White capitalist society is designed to take advantage of non-white peoples as a source of labor. According to the capitalist vision of the US, the American Dream emphasizes social mobility and the ability to build a life through hard work and education. This also means that the opposite is true: There are people who do not work hard enough who remain at the bottom. Ewing argues that this belief results in Black and Indigenous peoples being blamed for their socioeconomic outcomes, reinforces perceptions of them as innately inferior, and ignores historical realities such as discriminatory practices that actually account for why non-white students are largely denied the chance at achieving the American Dream.
One piece of Understanding History to Address Current Social Issues is the role of wealth building. A core aspect of US mythology is that working hard accumulates more wealth, which equals success. However, enslavement has profoundly complicated the process of wealth creation for Black citizens in several ways. Slavery is directly tied to US institutional wealth: Insurance giants New York Life and Aetna started their empires by investing in the trading of enslaved individuals, investment banks were often built on cotton speculation, and universities were constructed using enslaved labor forces. However, the Black people who performed this labor were not compensated for it, breaking the connection between hard work and increased earnings that the American Dream insists on. As a result, while white families have benefitted from generational wealth, the US’s Black population, which endured enslavement and Jim Crow, has not been able to similarly capitalize on inheritance. Evidence supporting this conclusion occurs in educational outcomes data: “[W]hite families where the head of household has an undergraduate or postgraduate degree hold, at the median, over three times as much wealth as Black households with the same level of educational attainment” (210). If education truly were an equalizer and there were no systemic issues at play, then one would expect similar success for both groups.
Land ownership also has a fraught history. Since its inception, the United States has upheld property ownership as a component of success, initially using it as a metric for citizenship and voting. However, just as enslavement prevented Black people from amassing land, so too did Indigenous people have their land taken by the US government. For example, the Dawes Act of 1887 “carved up land into parcels and allotted it to some Native households,” thus “destroy[ing] tribal sovereignty” and “destroying Indigenous relationships to land” (220-21). Additionally, this land remained in trust, with its ostensible owners unable to sell it or otherwise profit from it. These limitations to landownership for Black and Indigenous peoples minimized their wealth and status in society.
Central to Ewing’s discussion in Part 4 is the idea of external biased perception. Instead of identifying the systemic barriers Black and Indigenous peoples face, white society prefers to interpret their socioeconomic and educational status as a reflection of innate characteristics, stereotyping these groups as lazy, uncivilized, and unwilling to work to achieve the American Dream. This bias permeates the US educational system, which is also affected by negative perceptions of Black and Indigenous students. Disproportionately, Black and Indigenous students are put into tracks that do not lead to higher education; they are expected to become vocational workers instead. In developing her vision for Reimagining Education for Black and Indigenous Students, Ewing asks, “What would it look like for schooling spaces to invite joyful, meaningful, purposeful labor, coupled with ample rest? Instead of schools being tracked, stratified, and partitioned in a way that mirrors our deeply unequal country?” (248). These questions lead into her conclusion, which discusses how educators can change their perceptions of Black and Indigenous students and their role in society.



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