The Social Studies Curriculum Purposes P PDF

The Social Studies
Curriculum
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The Social Studies
Curriculum
Purposes, Problems, and Possibilities
THIRD EDITION
Edited by
E. Wayne Ross
State University of New York Press

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© 2006 State University of New York
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in Publication Data

The social studies curriculum : purposes, problems, and possibilities / [edited by]
E. Wayne Ross. — 3rd ed.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN-13: 978-0-7914-6909-5 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-7914-6909-3 (hardcover : alk. paper)
ISBN-13: 978-0-7914-6910-1 (pbk : alk. paper)
ISBN-10: 0-7914-6910-7 (pbk : alk. paper)
1. Social sciences—Study and teaching (Elementary)—Curricula—United States.
2. Social sciences—Study and teaching (Secondary)—Curricula—United States.
3. Curriculum planning—United States. I. Ross, E. Wayne, 1956–
LB1584.S6373 2006
372.83'043 2005036230
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For
Mom and Dad
Who taught me the value of education
and the importance of standing up for what you believe
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to each of the scholars who wrote chapters for this as well as previous
editions of The Social Studies Curriculum: Purposes, Problems, and Possibilities.
Each contribution reflects cutting-edge thinking about the challenging is-
sues of curriculum work in social studies education. In working on the third
edition of this book, again I found that I have much more to learn from my
colleagues about social studies, curriculum, and pedagogy.
Perry M. Marker, Stephen C. Fleury, David Hursh, and Jeffrey W. Cor-
nett are longtime comrades and social studies colleagues whose work re-
mains vital and whose friendship I continue to cherish. In recent years,
fellow workers Kevin D. Vinson, Rich Gibson, and I have collaborated on a
variety of projects, including the Rouge Forum (www.rougeforum.org) and
several books. Their knowledge of ideas postmodern and Marxian are leg-
endary and I have learned much from both (but, they are not responsible for
my shortcomings as their student). Valerie Ooka Pang, Ceola Ross Baber,
David Gabbard, Kathleen Kesson, and Michael Peterson are exemplar
scholar-teacher-activists who inspire me by all they accomplish.
I have had some truly wonderful workmates from New York to British
Columbia. Larry Stedman, Ken Teitelbaum, and Michael Whelan are long-
time commiserative colleagues on issues of higher education, politics, and,
perhaps most importantly, baseball.
My time in Kentucky brought me a number of friends and allies, most es-
pecially John Welsh, Marc Bousquet, Heather Julien, Daya Singh Sandhu,
Randy Wells, and Kathy Woods.
My new colleagues at the University of British Columbia are fabulous,
particularly the social studies education crew of Peter Seixas, Walt Werner,
Linda Farr Darling, Lisa Loutzenheiser, and Penney Clark. All of these folks
understand the connections between educational theory and practice and
work to make a difference in the lives of others.
I also would like to thank Diane Ganeles at SUNY Press for her invalu-
able support and patience throughout the production process, once again.
I have learned lots about life, love, and schools from John Colin Mathi-
son Ross and Rachel Layne Ross. I love them dearly and they both make me
a proud dad.
Sandra Mathison is the love of my life. She gives me everything I need,
and much, much more.
E. Wayne Ross
ix
CONTENTS
Acknowledgments ix
Introduction 1
Social Studies Teachers and Curriculum
E. Wayne Ross
PART I
PURPOSES OF THE SOCIAL STUDIES CURRICULUM
1. The Struggle for the Social Studies Curriculum 17
E. Wayne Ross
2. Teaching History: A Constructivist Approach 37
Michael Whelan
3. Oppression, Anti-Oppression, and Citizenship Education 51
Kevin D. Vinson
4. The Future is Now: Social Studies in the World of 2056 77
Perry M. Marker
PART II
SOCIAL ISSUES AND THE SOCIAL STUDIES CURRICULUM
5. Defining the Social Studies Curriculum: Influence of
and Resistance to Curriculum Standards and Testing in
Social Studies 99
Sandra Mathison
E. Wayne Ross
Kevin D. Vinson
6. Racism, Prejudice, and the Social Studies Curriculum 115
Jack L. Nelson
Valerie Ooka Pang
7. The Color of Social Studies: A Post-Social
Studies Reality Check 137
Frances V. Rains
vii
viii Contents
8. Marxism and Critical Multicultural Social Studies 157

Curry Malott
Marc Pruyn
9. Gender and Social Education: What’s the Problem? 171
Margaret Smith Crocco
PART III
THE SOCIAL STUDIES CURRICULUM IN PRACTICE
10. Struggling for Good Assessment in Social Studies Education 197
Sandra Mathison
Kristi Fragnoli
11. Reading Pictures of People 217
Walter Werner
12. “A World of Knowledge”: Social Education and Digital
Technology 241
Brenda Trofanenko
13. “Out” in the Classroom: Addressing Lesbian, Gay,
Bisexual and Transgender (LGBT) Issues in Social
Studies Curriculum 255
Kevin Jennings
14. Teaching Social Studies as if it Mattered: Young Children 265
and Moral Deliberation
Linda Farr Darling
15. Decolonizing the Mind for World-Centered Global Education 283
Merry M. Merryfield
Binaya Subedi
16. Teaching Democracy: What Schools Need to Do 297
Joseph Kahne
Joel Westheimer
PART IV
CONCLUSION
17. Remaking the Social Studies Curriculum 319
E. Wayne Ross
List of Contributors 333
Name Index 341
Subject Index 353
INTRODUCTION
SOCIAL STUDIES TEACHERS AND CURRICULUM
E. Wayne Ross
Any effort to understand the nature of the social studies curriculum pre-
sents us with at least two fundamental problems from the outset. First,
what exactly is “curriculum”? And secondly, what is “social studies”? The
answers are not as straightforward as you might expect.
The past eighty years have produced a huge literature about school
curriculum, but no definitive definition of what counts as curriculum. Is
curriculum a formal document or plan? Or is it what is assessed? Perhaps
it is what students have the opportunity to learn, or the totality of stu-
dents’ experiences of school. Curriculum scholars and practitioners have
advanced all these positions, and more.
Euclid may have been among the first to note that “the whole is the sum of
its parts.” But surely he was not describing “the curriculum.” . . . [J]udg-
ing by what has been written by others attempting to explain the “curricu-
lum field,” we are reminded again why the field is at once so fascinating
and frustrating: One seems to get a general sense of what “the curriculum”
is without knowing quite how to define it in all its detailed parts; yet, once
having made inferences at this level of generality, there remain nagging
concerns that much remains to be discovered. (Gehrke, Knapp, & Sirot-
nik, 1992, p. 51)
If the curriculum field in general is contentious in terms of definition

and delineation, then social studies is the beau ideal of curriculum.
Social Studies in Schools

Social studies has had a relatively brief and turbulent history as one of
the core subjects in the school curriculum. The fundamental content of
1
2 E. Wayne Ross
the social studies curriculum—the study of human enterprise across

space and time—however, has always been at the core of educational en-
deavors. Recent scholarship has raised questions about the traditional ac-
count of the origins of the social studies curriculum; however, it is
generally accepted that the formal introduction of social studies to the
school curriculum was marked by the publication of The Social Studies in
Secondary Education in 1916, the final report of the Committee on Social
Studies of the National Education Association’s (NEA) Commission on
the Reorganization of Secondary Schools, which included an emphasis
on the development of citizenship values. Earlier commissions of the
NEA and American Historical Association whose respective aims were
the reform of secondary education and inclusion of history as a core
school subject heavily influenced the Committee on Social Studies. The
roots of the contemporary social studies curriculum, therefore, can be
traced to at least two distinct curriculum reform efforts: the introduction
of academic history into the curriculum and citizenship education.
Since its formal introduction into the school, social studies has been
the subject of numerous commission and blue-ribbon panel studies,
ranging from the sixteen-volume report of the American Historical As-
sociation’s Commission on Social Studies in the 1930s to the recent
movement for national curriculum standards. Separate and competing
curriculum standards have recently been published for no less that seven
areas of the social studies curriculum: United States and global history,
economics, geography, civics, psychology, and social studies.
Throughout the twentieth century, and into the twenty-first, the social
studies curriculum has been an ideological battleground in which such di-
verse curricular programs as the “life adjustment movement,” progressive
education, social reconstructionism, and nationalistic history have held
sway at various times. The debate over the nature, purpose, and content of
the social studies curriculum continues today, with competing groups vari-
ously arguing for a “social issues approach,” the “disciplinary study of his-
tory and geography,” or action for social justice as the most appropriate
framework for the social studies curriculum (see Evans, 2004; Hursh &
Ross, 2000; Ross & Marker, 2005; Thornton, 2004). As with the curriculum
field in general, social studies curriculum is defined by a lack of consensus
and contentiousness over it goals and methods.
The Language of Teaching and Curriculum

The language used to describe, explain, and justify what we do as teach-
ers constitutes, in part, our work and our social relations with students,
teacher colleagues, and other stakeholders in education.1 Embedded
within the language of schooling and the images and metaphors it fosters
Introduction 3
are certain assumptions about means and ends (e.g., how children learn,
appropriate teacher-student relations, what knowledge is of most worth,
the purposes of schools). For example, some common metaphors used
to describe the work of teachers include gardener, facilitator, guide,
pilot, navigator, mapmaker, gatekeeper, change agent, and activist. Each
of these metaphors communicates certain assumptions about the teach-
ing-learning process and the interaction between teachers and curricu-
lum. What are our images of teachers in relation to curriculum? How do
these images shape the work of curriculum development and teaching?
In the Handbook of Research on Curriculum, Clandinin and Connelly
(1992) describe how educational research, from its genesis as a formal field,
has segregated inquiry into issues of “curriculum” and “teaching.” The dis-
tinction between curriculum and teaching has become commonplace and
the effect of its institutionalization is rarely a matter of consideration. For
example, “in the United States the land grant colleges institutionalized a
distinction between curriculum and instruction (C & I), either by creating
‘C & I’ departments or separating the two by establishing instructional de-
partments alongside . . . elementary and secondary education departments”
(Clandinin & Connelly, p. 364). This organizational distinction at the uni-
versity level spawned degree programs, which produced specialists to work
in schools, further entrenching the separation of curriculum and teaching.
The logic of the distinction between curriculum and instruction is
founded on the belief that decisions about aims or objectives of teaching
must be undertaken prior to decisions about the how to teach (see
Popham & Baker, 1970; Tyler, 1949). The distinction between curriculum
and instruction then is fundamentally a distinction between ends and
means. For researchers, this distinction provides a way to place boundaries
on their inquiry into the complex worlds of teaching and schooling. In
schools, this distinction fits into a bureaucratic structure that seeks to cate-
gorize areas of concern with an emphasis on efficiency in decision making.
This distinction has produced abstract categories of research and dis-
course that bear little resemblance to the lived experience of teachers in
the classroom, where ends and means are so thoroughly intertwined. This
does not mean, however, that the language and categories of research are
irrelevant to teachers.
Language use, educational practices, and social relationships contend
with each other in the formation of teachers’ professional identities and
the institutional culture of schools (Kemmis & McTaggart, 1998). For ex-
ample, when curriculum and instruction (ends and means) are conceived
as independent entities, curriculum development activities become the
work of one group and curriculum implementation becomes the work of
another. This division of labor, in turn, affects the social relations between
these groups as one group defines the goals or conceptualizes the work
4 E. Wayne Ross
and the other is responsible for accomplishment of the goals (see Ross,
1992). The apparent “indifference” of educational research and bureau-
cratic decision making to the reality of classroom teaching creates unequal
participation and power relations.
The implication is that we must closely examine the language of ed-
ucational practice because it influences our activities and social relations
within education. The strict distinction between ends and means in cur-
riculum work is problematic in a number of ways. First, the ends-means
distinction does not accurately reflect how the enacted curriculum is cre-
ated. Second, it justifies the separation of conception and execution in
teachers’ work, which reduces teachers’ control over their work. Third, it
marginalizes teachers in formal curriculum decision making.
The ends-means split between curriculum and teaching narrows the
professional role of teachers to the point where they have little or no
function in formal curriculum development—this has never been more
true than in the current era of standards-based curriculum and high-
stake tests. Many teachers have internalized the ends-means distinction
between curriculum and their work; as a result, they view their profes-
sional role as instructional decision makers, not curriculum developers
(Thornton, 1991, 2004). What is clear from studies of teacher decision
making, however, is that teachers do much more than select teaching
methods to implement formally adopted curricular goals (see Ross, Cor-
nett, & McCutcheon, 1992a). Teacher beliefs about social studies subject
matter and student thinking in social studies as well as planning and in-
structional strategies, together create the enacted curriculum of a class-
room—the day-to-day interactions among students, teachers, and subject
matter. The difference between the publicly declared formal curriculum
(as presented by curriculum standards documents) and the actual cur-
riculum experienced by students in social studies classrooms is signifi-
cant. The enacted curriculum is “the way the teacher confirms or creates
doubt about assertions of knowledge, whether some opinions are treated
as facts while other opinions are discounted as unworthy of considera-
tion” (Marker & Mehlinger, 1992, pp. 834–835). For example,
One teacher may proclaim that one of democracy’s virtues is a toler-

ance for many points of view, but in the classroom choke off views in-
consistent with his or her own. Another teacher may offer no assertions
about the value of democracy, while exhibiting its virtues in his or her
own behavior. (Marker & Mehlinger, 1992, p. 835)
When examining the enacted curriculum in the classroom, as opposed

to the formal curriculum, the teacher as mediator or curriculum maker is
the more appropriate metaphor. The orientation of this book is toward
the teacher as the key factor in curriculum development and change.
Introduction 5
Rethinking Teaching and Curriculum

If we conceive of social studies teaching and learning as activities that re-
quire us to pose and analyze problems in the process of understanding
and transforming our world, the limitations of an ends-means approach
to curriculum is clear. Social studies teaching should not be reduced to an
exercise in implementing a set of activities predefined by policy makers,
textbook authors, or a high-stakes test. Rather teachers should be actively
engaged in considering the perennial curriculum question—what knowl-
edge is of most worth? Social studies learning should not be about pas-
sively absorbing someone else’s conception of the world, but rather it
should be an exercise in creating a personally meaningful understanding
of the way the world is and how one might act to transform that world.
Thinking of curriculum not as disciplinary subject matter, but as
something experienced in situations is one alternative to the traditional
ends-means approach to curriculum (Connelly & Clandinin, 1988). This
is a Deweyan conception—curriculum as experience—in which teachers
and students are at the center of the curriculum. “In this view, ends and
means are so intertwined that designing curricula for teachers to imple-
ment for instructional purposes appears unreal, somewhat as if the cart
were before the horse” (Clandinin & Connelly, 1992, p. 365).
Dewey’s image of the teacher and her or his role in the creation of
school experiences can be found in How We Think (1933) and the essay
“The Relation of Theory to Practice in Education” (1964). He argued
that teachers must be students of both subject matter and “mind activity”
if they are to foster student growth. The teaching profession requires
teachers who have learned to apply critical thought to their work. To do
this, teachers must have a full knowledge of their subject matter as well as
observe and reflect on their practice. Dewey’s notion of the classroom
laboratory placed the teacher squarely in the center of efforts to under-
stand educational practice and develop educational theory.
The professional knowledge of teachers is theoretical knowledge, or
what has been called “practical theories of teaching.”
Practical theories of teaching are the conceptual structures and visions

that provide teachers with reasons for acting as they do, and for choos-
ing the teaching activities and curriculum materials they choose in
order to be effective. They are principles or propositions that undergird
and guide teachers’ appreciations, decisions, and actions. (Sanders &
McCutcheon, 1986, pp. 54–55)
Such theories are important to the success of teaching because educa-

tional problems are practical problems. Practical problems are defined
by discrepancies between a practitioner’s theory and practice, not as gaps
6 E. Wayne Ross
between formal educational theory and teacher behaviors (where ends

and means are separated).
Teachers could no more teach without reflecting upon (and hence

theorizing about) what they are doing than theorists could produce
theories without engaging in the sort of practices distinctive of their ac-
tivity. Theories are not bodies of knowledge that can be generated out
of a practical vacuum and teaching is not some kind of robot-like me-
chanical performance that is devoid of any theoretical reflection. Both
are practical undertakings whose guiding theory consists of the reflec-
tive consciousness of their respective practitioners. (Carr & Kemmis,
1986, p. 11)
Problems of teaching and curriculum are resolved not by discovery

of new knowledge, but by formulating and acting upon practical judg-
ment (Carr & Kemmis, 1986). The central aim of curriculum develop-
ment is to improve the practical effectiveness of the theories that
teachers employ in creating the enacted curriculum. This aim presents
problems in that sometimes teachers may not be conscious of the reasons
for their actions or may simply be implementing curriculum conceived
by others. This means that reflective practice must focus on both the ex-
plicit and the tacit cultural environment of teaching—the language,
manners, standards, beliefs, and values that unconsciously influence the
classroom and school environment and the ways in which teachers re-
spond to it. As Dewey asserted in Democracy and Education,
We rarely recognize the extent in which our conscious estimates of what

is worthwhile and what is not are due to standards of which we are not
conscious at all. But in general it may be said that the things which we
take for granted without inquiry or reflection are just the things which
determine our conscious thinking and decide our conclusions. And
these habitudes which lie below the level of reflection are just those
which have been formed in the constant give and take of relationship
with others. (Dewey, 1916, p. 18)
Social studies teaching and learning should be about uncovering the

taken-for-granted elements in our everyday experience and making them
the target of inquiry. In this mode, teaching and curriculum making be-
come problematic situations. Critical examination of the intersection of
language, social relations, and practice can provide insights into our
work as teachers and uncover constraints that affect our approaches to
and goals for social studies education. As the chapters in this book illus-
trate, the teacher and curriculum are inextricably linked. Our efforts to
improve and transform the social studies curriculum hinge on develop-
Introduction 7
ing practices among teachers and their collaborators (colleagues, stu-

dents, research workers, teacher educators, parents) that emerge from
critical analyses of the contexts teaching and schooling as well as self-
reflection—the exploration of practical theories employed by teachers
and the actions that they guide.
The Plan of the Book

The purpose of this book is to present a substantive overview of the issues
in curriculum development and implementation faced by social studies
educators. This third edition of The Social Studies Curriculum: Purposes,
Problems, and Possibilities is thoroughly updated and expanded from the
revised edition published in 2001. The focus is on presenting contempo-
rary perspectives on some of the most enduring problems facing social
studies educators, with a strong emphasis on concerns for diversity of
purposes and forms of knowledge within the social studies curriculum.
This collection of essays provides a systematic investigation of a broad
range of issues affecting the curriculum, including new chapters on is-
sues of race, multiculturalism, and teaching democracy as well as a chap-
ters on topics not addressed in the earlier editions, such as visual culture,
digital technologies, making the lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgendered ex-
perience visible in the curriculum, and the future of social studies. In ad-
dition there is a new chapter that focuses specifically on social studies for
young children. Enabling teachers and other curriculum workers to bet-
ter understand and act on the nature, scope, and context of social stud-
ies curriculum concerns in today’s schools is a primary goal of the book.
As with the earlier editions, the book is organized into the thematic
sections representing contemporary arenas of concern and debate
among social studies teachers, curriculum workers, and scholars. Part I—
Purposes of the Social Studies Curriculum focuses on the purposes identified
for social studies education in North America. This section provides
background on disciplinary struggles to control the social studies as well
as ways in which state departments of education, textbook publishers,
and other actors have influenced the curriculum. Particular emphasis is
placed on the “history versus social studies” debate. In chapter 1, I pre-
sent a broad overview of the struggles for the social studies curriculum,
describing a series of tensions and contradictions that have functioned to
define the debates over the social studies curriculum since its inception.
In chapter 2, Michael Whelan explores the fundamental questions the
field has grappled with since its origins—whether social studies is a uni-
fied field of study or a cluster of separate disciplines. Whelan’s case for
history as the core of social studies education is based on a constructivist
8 E. Wayne Ross
approach to history. He suggests a series of guidelines for social studies

teachers to consider in implementing a history-centered curriculum true
to social studies citizenship objectives. In chapter 3, through a series of
case studies of curriculum frameworks, Kevin D. Vinson examines the op-
pressive and anti-oppressive possibilities of citizenship education and as
a result clearly delineates both the problems and possibilities of this, per-
haps the most principal part of the social studies curriculum. In chapter
4, Perry Marker argues that despite myriad social, cultural, and techno-
logical changes, the contemporary social studies curriculum is mired in
early-20th-century history-centered thinking, and out of touch with the
needs and interests of the current generation of students who will be the
leaders of tomorrow. In this chapter, he explores how the social studies
curriculum needs to break from the forms and structures of the past and
consider what it means to educate citizens for the future.
Part II—Social Issues and the Social Studies Curriculum, examines social
issues in the social studies curriculum with an emphasis on issues of di-
versity and inclusion. Although it is not possible to present a comprehen-
sive overview of all the important diversity issues related to social studies
content areas, this section does address several of the most frequently
raised concerns (e.g., gender, race, class, and participatory democracy).
This section begins with three chapters that explore social studies as the
site for remaking social relations both within and outside of schools.
Chapter 5, “Defining the Social Studies Curriculum: Influence of and Re-
sistance to Curriculum Standards and Testing in Social Studies,” by San-
dra Mathison, E. Wayne Ross, and Kevin D. Vinson critically examines the
standards-based educational reform (SBER) movement and its use of
high-stakes tests as the principle means of reforming schools. The authors
provide an overview of the curriculum standards in social studies, argue
that high-stakes testing fails to meet the expectations of standards-based
reformers, and detail the deleterious effects of SBER and the grassroots
resistance to curriculum standardization and high-stakes tests.
In their chapter 6, “Racism, Prejudice, and the Social Studies Cur-
riculum,” Jack Nelson and Valerie Ooka Pang explore the contradictions
between the American credo and the rampant racism and prejudice that
marks our society. These authors argue that social studies education is
culpable, in part, for the latter condition. However, they also see the so-
cial studies curriculum most suited to examine racism and to provide
knowledge and critical analysis as a basis for anti-racist action.
We usually look at the social studies from the “front” end, from the
standpoint of curricula and instructional methods. In a sense, it is a “pre-
social studies” process. We do this with some deliberation, as we contem-
plate what is important to include, how it will be taught, and how it will be
assessed. However, Frances Rains argues in chapter 7, “The Color of
Introduction 9
Social Studies: A Post-Social Studies Reality Check,” that focusing on the

“other” end, on how the color of social studies plays out in real life, after
people have had social studies, has the power to enrich our thinking
about how we might approach social studies from the front end, differ-
ently. Rains offer examples from the lived post-social studies experiences
of some adult American Indian college students. The purpose of drawing
on these examples is to shed light on the color of social studies, drawing
on a critical race theory lens. These examples offer a springboard for crit-
ically reflecting on the ways in which the whiteness of social studies works
to subordinate the Other, and perpetuate the status quo, while appearing
politically correct. Rains posits that this “feel good” approach, intended
for the white majority, in fact, does not feel good, especially when the be-
nign color of social studies collides with post-social studies realities.
In chapter 8, Curry Malott and Marc Pruyn outline an approach to
social studies—Critical Multicultural Social Studies (CMSS)—that in-
fuses critical pedagogy and multiculturalism and that aims to battle
against the oppressive and hegemonic forces of what has been labeled
“traditional social studies instruction” (Ross, 2000). This chapter draws
on the work of educational radicals and progressives within the field of
social studies education for its philosophical, pedagogical, empirical, and
theoretical framework. Specifically, CMSS asks us to foster an under-
standing of how we can assist students in understanding the notion of
domination as it exists in the world today. It means making the curricu-
lum active, bringing it to life, and realizing our potential to be
social/pedagogical agents struggling for justice and equity. CMSS asks us
to redefine our relationships with our students—or, actually, to create re-
lationships with our students; positive, trustful and intellectual ones.
Despite women’s gains over the last several decades, the place of gender
within social education continues to reflect the stubborn persistence of pa-
triarchy worldwide. In chapter 9, “Gender and Social Education: What’s the
Problem,” Margaret Smith Crocco explores several ways of thinking about
the contemporary relevance of gender to social studies curriculum. Crocco
draws on Carol Lee Bacchi’s “What’s the Problem?” approach in order to
focus on the challenges social educators face regarding gender in an era of
globalization. In addition, Crocco uses curriculum scholar Joseph Schwab’s
four “commonplaces of schooling”—subject matter, learners, teachers, and
milieu—to provide a framework for systematically considering gender and
social education. Using the commonplaces also reinforces the notion that
gender and social education intersect in a variety of ways. Focusing on glob-
alization should not be read as implying that all issues of gender have been
resolved in the United States but simply places the United States within the
context of a rapidly changing world, one in which national boundaries are
not what they used to be. Crocco examines curricular representations of
10 E. Wayne Ross
gender, their underlying assumptions, and effects as well as ways in which

our responses to gender issues in the curriculum might differ the “gender
problem” was represented differently.
The third section of The Social Studies Curriculum: Purposes, Problems
and Possibilities examines the social studies curriculum in practice. The
focus in Part III, “The Social Studies Curriculum in Practice,” is on issues
in social studies that are currently demanding the attention of teachers
and curriculum workers as a result of initiatives to transform social studies
curriculum and teaching. As in the other sections of the book, a plethora
of perspectives are offered, however, there are many important issues and
initiatives that are not directly addressed because of space limitations. In
an effort to expand the coverage of topics from previous editions, there
are six new chapters in Part III. Curriculum themes addressed in this sec-
tion represent those that are particularly significant for social studies early
in the twenty-first century.
Chapter 10 addresses a central issue that affects social studies cur-
riculum and instruction: student assessment. Sandra Mathison and Kristi
Fragnoli distinguish assessment practices from tests and measurement
and analyze both the technical and social aspects of assessment. In social
studies, as in other school subject areas, there is a recent trend in some
quarters away from traditional means of assessing student knowledge and
skills and toward more “authentic” assessment practices. Mathison and
Fragnoli provide examples of both the limitations and possibilities of in-
novative performance assessment practices in social studies and the
dilemmas inherent in assessment reform in social studies.
Social studies classrooms and texts are typically filled with pictures,
mostly of people. In chapter 11, Walter Werner points out that although
human faces are pervasive in the classrooms and texts, “questions are
rarely raised about how they should be read. One reason is that mun-
dane pictures seem so self-evident. Another reason is that sight is deeply
privileged in the Western tradition. We normally don’t question how we
see because what we see has such strong empirical reality.” Drawing on
the insights of interdisciplinary studies of visual culture, Werner’s chap-
ter, “Reading Pictures of People,” deftly illustrates how teachers and stu-
dents can use taken-for-granted portraiture to raise questions about the
meanings and contexts of images, image-makers and viewers. Werner
provides examples of eleven different ways of “reading” portraits, all ef-
fective and unobstrusive ways that open up opportunities for students to
interpret and make meaning of subjects, authors, and themselves within
the social studies curriculum.
In chapter 12, “‘A World of Knowledge’: Social Education and Digi-
tal Technology,” Brenda Trofanenko considers a number of issues that
students and teachers are confronting in their examination of history
Introduction 11
through digital objects accessible from cultural heritage institutions such

as museums, archives, and art galleries. Trofanenko explores the current
move toward an expanded digital public education project, as primary
source materials are made available on institutional Web sites in an effort
to promote learning about the past. The decision to use online digital
sources is by no means simply an issue of access. The usefulness of digital
sources within social education warrants serious examination of what the
digital medium may mean for learning and teaching social studies. Tro-
fanenko suggests that social educators question the historically affirmed
educational role of cultural heritage institutions, to take advantage of the
large-scale digitization projects occurring within the discipline, and to
work in developing and advancing with students a critical view of the dig-
ital technologies as a space for learning.
In chapter 13, Kevin Jennings addresses the state of affairs with re-
gard to lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) issues in the so-
cial students curriculum today as well as how to integrate these topics
into the curriculum. Jennings points out that “heterosexism” and “ho-
mophobia” are at work in the typical social studies classroom. Hetero-
sexism is the often unconscious assumption that all people, past and
present, are heterosexual (which is posited as “normal”). Homophobia is
a conscious prejudice toward LGBT people, which causes educators to
deliberately exclude LGBT topics from classroom discourse The results
are that, while LGBT people are increasingly “out” in modern day so-
ciety, they continue to be left out of our social studies curricula. The
“hidden” curriculum of teaching the universality of heterosexuality, com-
bined with the “evaded curriculum” of erasing or distorting the experi-
ence of LGBT people in history, combines to give students a distorted
view of the past that directly contributes to a continuation of the igno-
rance, prejudice, and violence that is directed toward LGBT people
today. Jennings illustrates that today innovative educators have a
plethora of resources to call upon to redress this pattern. By using these
new materials, educators cannot only right the wrongs of the historical
record but approach timeworn topics such as industrialization, urban-
ization, the McCarthy Era, and others in fresh and exciting ways.
In chapter 14 titled “Teaching Social Studies as if it Mattered: Young
Children and Moral Deliberation,” Linda Farr Darling explores roles of
moral reasoning and the concept of obligation as the heart of the social
studies curriculum. She argues that “If we want to develop citizens who will
participate thoughtfully in public as well as private spheres, we can’t dis-
miss the role that a sense of obligation plays in both.” Focusing on social
studies for young children, Farr Darling illustrates how a sense of social
obligation can be taught to young children. In response to people who ob-
ject to moral education in the classroom, Farr Darling demonstrates how
12 E. Wayne Ross
cultivating a sense of obligation to others is a natural and appropriate task

for social studies education. “The fact that the sense of obligation to others
is often felt more than rationally considered or analyzed may make it diffi-
cult stuff to address within a social studies curriculum. Nevertheless, it’s im-
portant that we try.”
Whether we choose to ignore or reject the realities of globalization,
we will increasingly be affected by the world’s human diversity, the accel-
eration of inequities from economic, ecological and technological de-
pendence, and the repercussions of global imperialism, human conflict,
poverty, and injustice. In “Decolonizing the Mind for World-Centered
Global Education,” Merry M. Merryfield and Benaya Subedi challenge
the colonialist assumptions that pervade the social studies curriculum.
Merryfield and Subedi set out an agenda for a world-centered global ed-
ucation curriculum that removes the nationalistic filters, which only
allow students to see events, ideas, and issues through the lens of their
country’s national interests and government policy. If we are to educate
young Americans for effective citizenship in today’s global age, the au-
thors argue, the social studies curriculm must go beyond European or
North American constructions of knowledge and also teach the experi-
ences, knowledge, and perspectives of diverse peoples in Africa, Asia,
Latin America, and the Middle East.
Part III of the book concludes with Joseph Kahne and Joel West-
heimer’s “Teaching Democracy: What Schools Need to Do.” Kahne and
Westheimer spent two and a half years studying ten educational pro-
grams designed to promote democracy and civic engagement. They dis-
cuss both the importance of this goal for social studies teachers and ways
to pursue it. The strategies employed by programs they studied include
showing students that society needs improving by examining social prob-
lems and controversial issues, developing civic skills through workshops
and simulations, creating communities of support through positive real-
world experiences, and connecting students to compelling role models.
In this chapter, the authors also provide details of obstacles that social
studies teachers are likely to face, including political controversies that
aim to derail democratic education efforts and prominent education
policies that distract educators from these goals.
Part IV weaves together the various threads of the social studies cur-
riculum, as laid out in this volume, into a coherent pattern. As with the
world itself, it is impossible to provide one true representation of what
the social studies curriculum is. However, in chapter 17 I argue that con-
ceptions of the purposes, problems, and possibilities of the social studies
curriculum as depicted in this book provide an effective starting place
for educators who believe social studies should help children and young
adults learn to understand and transform their world.
Introduction 13
It is my hope that these essays will stimulate readers to reconsider

their assumptions and understanding about the origins, purposes, and
nature of the social studies curriculum. As is evident in the chapters, cur-
riculum is much more than information to be passed on to students—
a collection of facts and generalizations from history and the social sci-
ence disciplines. The curriculum is what students experience. It is dy-
namic and inclusive of the interactions among students, teachers, subject
matter, and the context. The true measure of success in any social stud-
ies program will be found in its effects on individual students’ thinking
and actions as well as the communities to which students belong. Teach-
ers are the key component in any curriculum improvement and it is my
hope that this book provides social studies teachers with perspectives, in-
sights, and knowledge that are beneficial in their continued growth as
professional educators.
Note
1. This and the following section draws on Ross (1994) and Ross, Cornett,
and McCutcheon (1992b).
References
Carr, W., & Kernmis, S. (1986). Becoming critical. Education, knowledge, and action
research. London: Falmer.
Clandinin, D. J., & Connelly, F. M. (1992). Teacher as curriculum maker. In
P. Jackson (Ed.), Handbook of research on curriculum (pp. 363–401). New York:
Macmillan.
Connelly, F. M., & Clandinin, D. J. (1998). Teachers as curriculum planners: Narra-
tives of experience. New York: Teachers College Press.
Dewey, J. (1916). Democracy and education. New York: Free Press.
Dewey, J. (1933). How we think. Lexington, MA: Heath.
Dewey, J. (1964). The relation of theory to practice in education. In R. D. Archam-
bault (Ed.), John Dewey on education: Selected writings. Chicago: University of
Chicago Press. (Original work published 1904).
Evans, R. W. (2004). The social studies wars: What should we teach the children? New
York: Teachers College Press.
Gehrke, N. J., Knapp, M. S., & Sirotnik, K. A. (1992). In search of the school cur-
riculum. Review of Research in Educaton, 18, 51–110.
Hursh, D., & Ross, E. W. (2000). Democratic social education: Social studies for social
change. New York: RoutledgeFalmer.
Kemmis, S., & McTaggart, R. (1988). The action research planner (3rd ed.). Gee-
long,Victoria: Deakin University Press.
Marker, G., & Mehlinger, H. (1992). Social studies. In P. Jackson (Ed.), Handbook
of research on curriculum (pp. 830–851). New York: Macmillan.
14 E. Wayne Ross
Popham, W. J., & E. L. Baker. (1970). Establishing instructional goals. Englewood

Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall.
Ross, E. W. (1992). Educational reform, school restructuring and teachers’ work.
International Journal of Social Education, 7(2), 83–92.
Ross, E. W. (1994). Teachers as curriculum theorizers. In E. W. Ross (Ed.),
Reflective practice in social studies (pp. 35–41). Washington, DC: National
Council for the Social Studies.
Ross, E. W. (2000). Redrawing the lines: The case against traditional social stud-
ies instruction. In D. W. Hursh & E. W. Ross (Eds.), Democratic social educa-
tion: Social studies for social change (pp. 43–63). New York: Falmer.
Ross, E. W., Cornett, J. W., & McCutcheon, G. (Eds.). (1992a). Teacher personal the-
orizing: Connecting curriculum practice, theory and research. Albany: State Uni-
versity of New York Press.
Ross, E. W., Cornett, J. W., & McCutcheon, G. (1992b). Teacher personal theoriz-
ing and research on teaching. In E. W. Ross, J. W. Cornett, & G. McCutcheon
(Eds.), Teacher personal theorizing: Connecting curriculum practice, theory and re-
search (pp. 3–18). Albany: State University of New York Press.
Ross, E. W., & Marker, P. M. (Eds.). (2005). Social studies: Wrong, right, or left?
The Social Studies, 96 (4–5).
Sanders, D., & McCutcheon, G. (1986). The development of practical theories of
teaching. Journal of Curriculum and Supervision, 2(1), 50–67.
Thornton, S. J. (1991). Teacher as curricular gatekeeper in social studies. In
J. P. Shaver (Ed.), Handbook of research on social studies teaching and learning
(pp. 237–248). New York: Macmillan.
Thornton, S. J. (2004). Teaching social studies that matter. New York: Teachers Col-
lege Press.
Tyler, R. (1949). Basic principles of curriculum and instruction. Chicago: University
of Chicago Press.
CHAPTER 1
THE STRUGGLE FOR THE
SOCIAL STUDIES CURRICULUM
E. Wayne Ross
The content of the social studies curriculum is the most inclusive of all
school subjects. Stanley and Nelson define social education as “the study
of all human enterprise over time and space” (1994, p. 266). Determin-
ing the boundaries of the social education taught in schools, what most
people know as the social studies, requires decisions about what social
knowledge is most important, which skills and behaviors are most valu-
able, what values are most significant, and what sequence of content and
skills best fits the subject matter and the students (Stanley & Nelson,
1994). Given this, it is not surprising that social studies has been racked
by intellectual battles over its purpose, content, and pedagogy since its
inception as a school subject in the early part of the twentieth century:
To top it off, even the historical accounts of the origins of the social stud-
ies as a school subject are in dispute.
Three questions form the framework for this chapter: (1) What is the
social studies curriculum? (2) Who controls the social studies curriculum?
and (3) What is the social studies teacher’s role in relation to the curricu-
lum? These may seem to be simple and straightforward questions, but as
we shall see there is debate and controversy surrounding each. Even the
most basic aspects of the social studies, such as its purpose in the school
curriculum, have been contested since its inception and the field contin-
ues to be a hotspot in the “culture wars” (Evans, 2004; Ross, 2000b, 2004).
As each of the above questions is addressed, fundamental tensions and
contradictions that underlie the social studies curriculum will be identi-
fied. My intention is to present this series of tensions and contradictions
as a heuristic for understanding the dynamic nature of the social studies.
It would be a mistake to treat them as definitive oppositions; however, it is
17
18 E. Wayne Ross
the struggle over these contradictions that have shaped the nature of the
social studies curriculum in the past and continue to fashion it today.
The first section of this chapter examines the origins and purposes of
the social studies curriculum. The historical analysis presented in this sec-
tion does not attempt to be exhaustive, but rather is intended as a context
for understanding the contemporary social studies curriculum and cur-
rent efforts to reform it. Both the contradictory origins of social studies in
schools and the long-standing dispute over the relative emphasis of cul-
tural transmission and critical thinking will be examined. The following
section examines the question of curricular control with particular em-
phasis on the historical tensions between curriculum centralization and
grassroots curriculum development in the social studies. The impact of
standards-based, test-driven education reform on social studies curricu-
lum is addressed in the next section. Social studies curriculum and in-
struction cannot be considered in isolation. The teacher is the most
critical element in the improvement and transformation of the social
studies curriculum. In the final section of this chapter, the role of the so-
cial studies teacher in relation to the curriculum is examined. In this sec-
tion, the role of teachers as curriculum conduits is contrasted with a more
professional activist view of teachers as curriculum theorizers.
What is the Social Studies Curriculum?

Origins of Social Studies in School: Academic History, Social Improvement,
Struggle for Justice
Social studies in the broadest sense, that is, the preparation of young
people so that they possess the knowledge, skills, and values necessary for
active participation in society, has been a primary part of schooling in
North America since colonial times. The earliest laws establishing
schools in the United States specified religious and moral instruction. In
the Latin grammar schools of New England, instruction in catechism and
Bible was the core of schooling, while geography and moral philosophy
were also taught. Nationalistic education intended to develop loyal pa-
triots replaced religion as the main purpose of social education following
the American Revolution. From the late eighteenth century when Web-
ster began to include nationalistic material in his geography texts, up to
the present day, nationalistic education has permeated the social studies
curriculum (Stanley & Nelson, 1994).
One of the earliest uses of the term “social studies” to refer to school
subjects is attributed to Thomas Jesse Jones in an article that appeared in
the Southern Workman in 1905 (Tabachnick, 1991). Jones expanded the
article into a book, Social Studies in the Hampton Curriculum, in which he
expressed his concern that young African-Americans and Native Ameri-
The Struggle for the Social Studies Curriculum 19
cans “would never be able to become integral members of the broader

society unless they learned to understand that society, the social forces
that operated within it, and ways to recognize and respond to social
power” (Tabachnick, 1991, p. 725).
The traditional view of the origins of the contemporary social studies
curriculum is that the National Education Association’s 1916 Committee
on Social Studies introduced the term social studies and created the scope
and sequence of courses that define the contemporary curriculum. As
mentioned above, the origins of the contemporary social studies curricu-
lum has recently become a flash point between advocates of a history-cen-
tered social studies curriculum and those calling for a curriculum based on
the interdisciplinary study of current social studies (see Evans, 2004). Whe-
lan (1992 and chapter 2 in this volume) points out the contemporary so-
cial studies has roots in both the movement to include the academic study
of history in the schools (through the work of the NEA’s 1893 Committee
of Ten and the American Historical Association’s 1899 Committee of
Seven) as well as ideas drawn from social welfare and social improvement
movements of the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, which influ-
enced the report of the NEA’s 1916 Committee on Social Studies.
Whelan suggests that both sides (e.g., Ravitch, 1989 and Saxe, 1991)
in the debate over the origins of social studies have drawn somewhat ex-
treme and misleading portraits of the roles and differences between his-
torians and progressive social meliorists in the development of social
studies as a school subject. Nonetheless, the contemporary social studies
curriculum does have at least two sources: academic history and social im-
provement. The tensions and contradictions inherent in the establish-
ment of social studies in schools, while perhaps not as extreme as
represented by some scholars, may still, however, help to explain the in-
ternal conflict that has shaped the field since its beginnings. Disagree-
ment over curricular issues in social studies has characterized the field
since its birth and these disagreements and diversities of opinion regard-
ing the nature, purpose, and organization of social studies have served to
energize the field.
Noffke (2000) explores “alternative roots” for social studies educa-
tion, roots that highlight the possibilities of new understandings of fun-
damental social studies concepts such as citizenship and justice.
Social educators have another history, one not directly connected to

the emergence of social science disciplines and not launched by a series
of committees. Rather than highlighting a vested interest in the emer-
gence of a professional group, there are voices in our history, which re-
flect the struggle for social justice in and through education, often
focusing on citizens in the midst of social struggle. (p. 80)
20 E. Wayne Ross
Noffke argues that debates over social studies have failed to acknowledge
the widening gap between haves and have-nots and the racialized and
gendered patterns of privilege and oppression, which to a large degree
form the basis of U.S. economic and cultural life, are also not addressed
in contemporary proposals for curriculum reform. Rather than accept the
current configuration of meanings of social studies, which are “grounded
in particular unequal and unjust cultural and economic system and de-
signed to ensure its persistence,” Noffke, harkening back to the challenge
of George S. Counts (1932), sets out the social studies project as creating
a new social order, one based on democracy and economic justice.
Noffke argues for a conception of social education in which cultural
identity and social context play a more valued role than a curriculum
built for a “universal” child. The construction of social studies curricu-
lum cannot be accomplished by a focusing on a universal, individual
child. Rather the social studies curriculum must be seen “as a living part
of communities and social movements” (p. 78). She locates the roots of
this vision of social studies education in the work of African-American ed-
ucators, such as Jessie Fauset, Helen Whiting, Septima Clark, Carter G.
Woodson, and W. E. B. DuBois, and in communities engaged in struggle
for democracy and economic justice (e.g., Myles Horton and the High-
lander Center). Drawing on these sources, Noffke contends that tradi-
tional goal of social studies—enhancing democratic citizenship must be
bound to issues of racial and economic justice and seen not as a “fixed
end” but as a concept that must be continually constructed as it is lived.
The Purposes of the Social Studies Curriculum: Cultural Transmission and

Critical Thought
There is widespread agreement that the proper aim of social studies is “cit-
izenship education,” or the preparation of young people so that they pos-
sess the knowledge, skills, and values necessary for active participation in
society (Barr, Barth, & Shermis, 1977; Fullinwider,1991; Longstreet,1985;
Marker & Mehlinger,1992; McCutchen, 1963; Shaver, 1977; Stanley, 1985;
Thornton, 1994, 2004; Westheimer & Kahn, 2004). Most social studies ed-
ucators justify the subject on the grounds of citizenship; however, there is
no consensus on what “citizenship” means nor on the implications of “cit-
izenship” for curriculum and instruction. As Marker and Mehlinger note
in their review of research on the social studies curriculum:
[T]he apparent consensus on behalf of citizenship education is almost

meaningless. Behind that totem to which nearly all social studies re-
searchers pay homage lies continuous and rancorous debate about the
purposes of social studies. Some believe that social studies should focus
primarily on history and geography; others have argued that social stud-
ies should examine “closed areas,” topics that are more or less taboo in
polite society (Hunt & Metcalf, 1955), decision making (Engle, 1963),
public policy (Oliver & Shaver, 1966), environmental competence
(Newmann,1977), moral development (Kohlberg, 1973, 1975), and
adult social roles (Superka & Hawke,1982). While a few think that the
purpose of social studies is to make students astute critics of American
society (Engle & Ochoa, 1988), others believe . . . that the purpose of
social studies is mainly socialization into the values, habits and beliefs
that permit youth to find a niche in adult society. (1992, p. 832)
Various schemes have been used by researchers to make sense of the

wide-ranging and conflicting purposes offered for social studies. The most
influential of these was worked out by Barr, Barth, and Shermis (1977),
who grouped the various positions on the social studies curriculum into
three themes: citizenship (or cultural) transmission, social science, and re-
flective inquiry. Morrissett and Haas (1982) used the categories of conser-
vative cultural continuity, the intellectual aspects of history and the social
sciences, and process of thinking reflectively. Both sets of researchers es-
sentially agree that social studies is used for three primary purposes: (1) so-
cialization into society’s norms; (2) transmission of facts, concepts, and
generalizations from the academic disciplines; and (3) the promotion of
critical or reflective thinking. Although these researchers come down on
differing sides (with Barr, Barth and Shermis favoring “reflective inquiry”
and Morrissett and Haas arguing for the “intellectual aspects of the acade-
mic disciplines”), they both agree that the dominant approach practiced
in schools is transmission of facts and values. In a survey of social studies
teachers, however, Vinson (1998) found that respondents identified more
strongly with social studies as “reflective inquiry” and “informed social crit-
icism” than with approaches social studies as “citizenship transmission” or
“social studies as social science.”
A third analytic framework of the purposes of social studies is offered
by Stanley and Nelson (1994). They argue that the key element in the
dispute over the purpose of social studies in the school curriculum in-
volves the relative emphasis given to cultural transmission or to critical or
reflective thinking. When cultural transmission is emphasized, the intent
is to use the social studies curriculum to promote social adaptation. The
emphasis is on teaching content, behaviors, and values that reflect views
accepted by the traditional, dominant society. This approach is politically
conservative, valuing stability and common standards of thought and be-
havior. When critical or reflective thinking is emphasized the intent is to
use the social studies curriculum to promote social transformation. The
emphasis is on teaching content, behaviors, and values that question and
critique standard views accepted by the dominant society. This approach
is a more progressive view, valuing diversity and the potential of social
22 E. Wayne Ross
action to lead to the reconstruction of society (e.g., Hursh & Ross, 2000;
Ross in the chapter 17 of this volume).
It is within the context of the tensions between the relative emphasis
on transmission of the cultural heritage of the dominant society or the
development of critical thought that the social studies curriculum has
had a mixed history—predominately conservative in its purposes, but
also at times incorporating progressive and even radical purposes. Stan-
ley and Nelson organize the variations in social studies curriculum and
instruction into three broad and not necessarily opposing categories:
subject-centered social studies, civics-centered social studies, and issues-
centered social studies.
Subject-centered approaches argue that the social studies curriculum
derives its content and purposes from disciplines taught in higher educa-
tion. Some advocates would limit social studies curriculum to the study of
traditional history and geography while others would also include the tra-
ditional social sciences (e.g., anthropology, economics, political science,
sociology, psychology). Still others would include inter- and multidiscipli-
nary areas such as ethnic studies, law, women’s studies, cultural studies,
and gay/lesbian studies. The glue holding these various curricular views
together is that each seeks to derive an organizing framework for the so-
cial studies curriculum based upon disciplinary knowledge from higher
education. Some subject-centered advocates argue for cultural transmis-
sion, without multiculturalism (e.g., Leming, Ellington, & Porter-Magee,
2003; Ravitch, 1990; Schlesinger, 1991), while others suggest using the dis-
ciplines as a means for stimulating critical thinking and diversity (e.g.,
Whelan, chapter 2 in this volume). For both groups subject matter knowl-
edge is paramount.
Civics-centered social studies is concerned with individual and social
attitudes and behaviors more than with subject matter knowledge. Civic
competence or the ability and responsibility to interpret, understand,
and act effectively as a member of one’s society is the unifying theme in
this approach (see chapter 3, by Vinson, in this volume). As within the
subject-centered approach, there are a wide spectrum of views from in-
culcating cultural traditions to promoting social action. Views differ on
the relative emphasis that should be given to uncritical loyalty, socially
approved behaviors, and to social criticism and improvement, but they
share the view that social studies is more than subject matter study and
must be tied to civic competence (e.g., Engle & Ochoa, 1988).
Issues-centered approaches propose that social studies is the exami-
nation of specific issues. Social as well as personal problems and contro-
versies are the primary content of the curriculum. The views in this
category range from personal development to social problems as the pur-
pose of the social studies curriculum. Some would advocate the study of
only perennial issues while other emphasize current or personal issues,
such as moral dilemmas and values clarification. Some advocates argue

that social criticism or activism is the main reason for studying issues
(e.g., Evans, 2004) while others view this approach as way to help stu-
dents adapt to the society.
The three approaches to social studies described by Stanley and Nel-
son are not necessarily separate or opposing. Knowledge from the disci-
plines is used in each; none disagrees that one purpose of the social studies
is citizenship education; and each accepts social studies as a valuable con-
struct. “Each of these approaches has at least one strand that advocates so-
cial studies as the transmission of socially approved ideas and another
strand that advocates independent critical thinking or action. The three
orientations differ in how each would approach either transmission or crit-
icism: one primarily uses subject knowledge; one uses character develop-
ment; and one uses issues” (Stanley & Nelson, 1994, p. 269). These are
important differences and it is likely that a mix of these orientations would
be evident within a school and across individual teachers’ careers.
Who Controls the Social Studies Curriculum?

Any response to this question hinges on a conception of curriculum.
Curricular issues cannot be usefully discussed or analyzed apart from
teachers’ pedagogical practices (Ross, Cornett, & McCutcheon, 1992;
Thornton, 2004). Indeed, even the curriculum commissions of the late
nineteenth century recognized the crucial role of social studies teachers
in achieving curricular goals. As will become evident in this and the fol-
lowing section, however, agreement on the importance of the teacher’s
role does not translate into consensus regarding the appropriate actions
to take to improve or transform the curriculum.
Although there are myriad definitions of “curriculum,” there is a sin-
gle fundamental distinction that is useful in any analysis of curriculum—
that is, the difference between the formal and the enacted curriculum. The
formal curriculum is the explicit or official curriculum, embodied in
published courses or study, state frameworks, textbooks, tests, and cur-
riculum standards efforts (e.g., NCSS, 1994). The enacted curriculum is
best understood as the curriculum experienced by students; Cornbleth
calls this the “social process curriculum.” Unlike the formal curriculum
the enacted curriculum is “not a tangible product but the actual day-to-
day classroom interactions of teacher, students and ideas” (Cornbleth,
1985, cited in Marker & Mehlinger, p. 834).
The current debates over the purpose and organization of the formal
social studies curriculum are only the most recent waves in a sea of ten-
sions between centralized and grassroots curriculum development that
has marked the history of education in the United States (Ross & Marker,
2005a, 2005b). Curriculum development and reform efforts have long
24 E. Wayne Ross
harbored a tension between approaches that rely on centralized efforts

leading to a standard curriculum and grassroots democratic efforts that
provide greater involvement for teachers, parents, students, and other
local curriculum leaders in determining what is worthwhile to know and
experience. Curriculum centralization has resulted from three major in-
fluences: legal decisions; policy efforts by governments, professional asso-
ciations, and foundations; and published materials. Examples of the latter
two influences will be sketched below.1
Influence of Nongovernmental and Governmental Policy Efforts

The centralizing influence of educational policy on curriculum can be
seen as early as 1839 in Henry Barnard’s first annual report as secretary to
the Board of Commissioners of Common Schools in Connecticut, which
raised the question of what the common school curriculum should be
(Schubert, 1991). Educational reform efforts in 1890s attempted to define
the nature of the school curriculum and featured efforts by both intellec-
tual traditionalists (e.g., W. T. Harris and Charles Eliot) and developmen-
talists (e.g., Charles DeGarmo and Frank McMurry) to exercise control
through a centralized curriculum (Kleibard, 2004).
The social studies curriculum has been heavily influenced by policies
of curriculum centralization. The roots of the contemporary social studies
curriculum are found in the 1916 report of the NEA Committee on the So-
cial Studies as well as the NEA Committee of Ten (1893) and AHA Com-
mittee of Seven (1899), which preceded it. The current pattern of topics
and courses for secondary social studies is largely the result of recommen-
dations of the 1916 Committee (see Marker, chapter 4 in this volume).
The pattern of course offerings in social studies, which has been consistent
since the early twentieth century, reflects a time in which many students
completed only elementary or junior high school, thus United States his-
tory is offered in grades five, eight, and eleven (Marker & Mehlinger,
1992). Despite the changing demographics of school attendance the pat-
tern of course offerings have remained relatively unchanged:
K. Self, school, community, home

1. Families
2. Neighborhoods
3. Communities
4. State history, geographic regions
5. United States history
6. World cultures, Western hemisphere
7. World geography or world history
8. United States history
9. Civics or world cultures
10. World history

11. United States history.
12. American government
Efforts to centralize the curriculum through government mandates

also have a long history. The debate over vocational education in the early
twentieth century embodied rhetoric similar to today’s concerns for eco-
nomic competitiveness (Kincheloe, 2000). One assessment of the educa-
tional situation at the time argued that schools were failing to provide
students with “industrial intelligence” and called for a shift in the orienta-
tion of secondary schools from “cultural” to vocational education (Krug,
1969). The subsequent campaign for vocational education was modeled
after Germany’s dual system and ultimately produced the Smith-Hughes
Act of 1917. Smith-Hughes fostered the transformation of the American
high school from an elite institution into one for the masses by mandating
that the states specify training needs, program prescriptions, standards and
means for monitoring progress. The dual system of education created by
Smith-Hughes was reconceptualized in 1990 with the passage of the
Perkins Vocational and Applied Technology Act, which provided incen-
tives for the development of work education programs that integrate aca-
demic and vocational studies. The law supported grassroots curriculum
development by allocating 75% of its funds directly to local schools, rather
than to the states, and giving priority to communities with the highest rates
of poverty. This is an example of how local grassroots initiatives of people
who know best the needs and characteristics of economically distressed
communities can be effectively supported (Wirth, 1992). But the story of
educational reform in the early twenty-first century is the “triumph” (at
least politically) of centralized, standards-based reforms.
Curriculum frameworks produced by states are accompanied by
mandated standardized tests that ensure the “alignment” of classroom
practices with state frameworks. (Regents Examinations in New York
State are one of the oldest examples of this approach. The No Child Left
Behind Act has now enshrined test-driven curriculum across the U.S.)
These curriculum frameworks are intended to influence textbook pub-
lishers and establish standards by which students, teachers, and schools
will be assessed. In many cases, state curriculum frameworks represent a
major step toward state control of what knowledge is of most worth
(Cornbleth & Waugh, 1995; Gabbard & Ross, 2004; Mathison, 1991;
Mathison & Ross, 2004; Ross, 1992; and chapter 5, by Mathison, Ross, &
Vinson, in this volume). Although states (and as we shall see current cur-
riculum standards projects) deny that these frameworks amount to “cur-
riculum,” their practical effects are the equivalent. This is particularly
true when frameworks, standardized tests, and textbooks are aligned
(Brooks, 1991; Vinson, Gibson, & Ross, 2004).
26 E. Wayne Ross
I have just hinted at the large-scale centralizing influence of educa-

tion policies on curriculum. Resistance to curriculum centralization has
always existed (Ross, 1999, 2000c). There is a strong tradition of local
school control in the U.S. and this has generally extended to curriculum
development and implementation. The influence of John Dewey’s phi-
losophy of education has been a major resource for the resistance. Dewey
argued that acquaintance with centralized knowledge must derive from
situational concerns; that is, disciplinary knowledge must be attained by
the inquiring student in ways that have meaning for her or him.
William H. Kilpatrick’s project method is an example of a grassroots
approach to curriculum development that is clearly different from cen-
tralized curricula and based upon Dewey’s philosophy (Kilpatrick, 1918).
The project method is very similar to the contemporary notion of thematic
units, in which learning is approached as integrative, multifaceted, collab-
orative, responsive to students’ varied needs, and organized around a par-
ticular theme. In the project method, students and teachers took on a
greater role in determining the curriculum because they were deemed in
the best position to understand the personal and contextual foundations
from which a meaningful and relevant curriculum could be constructed.
Projects were pursued in small groups or as whole class experiences.
Knowledge from the disciplines would be brought to bear on the pro-

ject when it was perceived as relevant. The essence of the project re-
quired that teachers and students develop the idea together. If students
were fascinated by zoos, for instance all subjects (traditional and mod-
ern) could be related to a deepened understanding of zoos. (Schubert,
1991, p. 107)
Published Materials
Textbooks have also been a major force in standardizing the curriculum.
For more than seventy years teachers have relied on textbooks as a pri-
mary instructional tool. In 1931, Bagley found that American students
spent a significant portion of their school day in formal mastery of text
materials (Bagley, 1931 cited in McCutcheon, 1995). A 1978 study of fifth-
grade curricula found 78% of what students studied came from textbooks
and a 1979 study found textbooks and related materials were the basis for
90% of instructional time in schools. In their review of research on the so-
cial studies curriculum, Marker and Mehlinger (1992) found about half
of all social studies teachers depend upon a single textbook and about
90% use no more than three.
Many states adopt textbooks on a statewide basis (Marker & Mehlinger,
1992), and three large “adoption states” (California, Florida, and Texas)
exert an enormous influence on the content of textbooks used nationwide.

The textbook industry is highly competitive and the industry is dominated
by a small number of large corporations; as a result, textbook companies
modify their products to qualify for adoption in one of these states. As
a result, the values and politics of adoption committees in those states
influence curriculum nationally (Black, 1967; Bowler, 1978; Cornbleth &
Waugh, 1995).
In attempting to reach the widest range of purchasers, textbook pub-
lishers promote values (overtly and covertly) that maintain social and
economic hierarchies and relationships supported by the dominant so-
cioeconomic class (Apple, 1986; Apple & Christian-Smith, 1991). James
W. Loewen (1995) illustrates this at length in his analysis of U.S. history
textbooks. For example, in a discussion of how history textbooks make
white racism invisible, Loewen notes:
Although textbook authors no longer sugarcoat how slavery affected

African Americans, they minimize white complicity in it. They present
slavery virtually as uncaused, a tragedy, rather than a wrong perpetrated
by some people on others . . . Like their treatment of slavery, textbooks’
new view of Reconstruction represents a sea change, past due, much
closer to what the original sources for the period reveal, and much less
dominated by white supremacy. However, in the way the textbooks
structure their discussion, most of them inadvertently still take a white
supremacist viewpoint. Their rhetoric makes African Americans rather
that whites the “problem” and assumes that the major issue of Recon-
struction was how to integrate African Americans into the system, eco-
nomically and politically . . . The archetype of African Americans as
dependent on others begins . . . in textbook treatments of Reconstruc-
tion . . . In reality, white violence, not black ignorance, was the key prob-
lem during Reconstruction. (Loewen, 1995, p. 151)
In his analysis of the history of curriculum centralization, Schubert notes

1958 as a key turning point in educational policy making. That year the
National Defense Education Act helped to import disciplinary specialists to
design curriculum packages for schools. In the social studies, these cur-
riculum innovations were collectively called the New Social Studies. The
purpose of the New Social Studies was to “capture the main ideas and cur-
rent approaches to knowledge represented by the academic disciplines”
(Marker & Mehlinger, 1992, p. 838). These curriculum projects focused on
inquiry methods and the “structure of the disciplines” approach. Although
social studies specialists helped in the development of New Social Studies
materials, the curricular focus was on the academic disciplines. These ma-
terials were not “teacher proof,” but they are exemplars of teachers-as-
curriculum-conduit thinking (Ross, 1994). Developers, who were primarily
28 E. Wayne Ross
experts in academic disciplines, viewed teachers as implementers not active

partners in the creation of classroom curriculum. Strategies for promoting
the New Social Studies as well as other subject matter projects from this era,
focused on preparing teachers to faithfully implement the developers’ cur-
ricular ideas. For example, schools could not adopt and use the project
Man: A Course of Study unless teachers were specially trained (Marker &
Mehlinger, 1992).
While the development and dissemination of the curriculum pro-
jects in the 1960s were well funded, they failed to make a major impact
on classroom practices. Some have argued that the “failure” of the pro-
jects is attributable to technical problems, such as inadequate training of
teachers to use the packages or lack of formative evaluation. In contrast,
proponents of grassroots democracy in curriculum offered the expla-

nation that the failure was due to the blatant disregard of teachers and
students in curriculum decision making. This is especially ironic inas-
much as those who promoted inquiry methods with the young ne-
glected to allow inquiry by teachers and students about matters most
fundamental to their growing lives, that is, inquiry about that which is
most worthwhile to know and experience. (Schubert, 1991, p. 114)
It is clear that in the past thirty years support for educational reform from
industry, private foundations, as well as the federal government has pro-
duced a more capitalistic, less educator-oriented and ultimately less demo-
cratic network of curriculum policy makers (Gabbard & Ross, 2004; Kesson
& Ross, 2004; Mathison & Ross, 2004; Vinson & Ross, 2004).
Curriculum Standards
It is clear that government-driven curriculum centralization efforts (i.e.,
the No Child Left Behind Act of 2001 and its ramifications) have success-
fully transformed the formal curriculum in all areas and particularly in so-
cial studies (Gabbard & Ross, 2004; Kesson & Ross, 2004; Mathison & Ross,
2004; Ross, 2000a; Vinson & Ross, 2003, 2004). The standards movement
is a massive effort at curriculum centralization. Virtually all of the subject-
matter-based professional education groups have undertaken the creation
of curriculum standards. Encouraged by the positive response to the de-
velopment of standards for the mathematics curriculum and the availabil-
ity of federal funding for such projects, social studies educators have taken
up the development of curriculum standards with unparalleled zeal. There
are now separate and competing curriculum standards for United States
and global history, geography, economics, civics, psychology, and social
studies (see chapter 5, by Mathison, Ross, & Vinson, in this volume, for a
more complete analysis of standards-based educational reforms).
Because the aim of these projects is to create a national educational

system with uniform content and goals the ongoing debates and divisions
within the field of social studies has intensified. The standards-based cur-
riculum movement is a rationalized managerial approach to issues of
curriculum development and teaching that attempts to define curricular
goals, design assessment tasks based on these goals, set standards for the
content of subject matter areas and grade level, and test students and re-
port the results to the public. The intent is to establish standards for con-
tent and student performance levels.
The primary tension in curriculum reform efforts, today and histori-
cally, is between centralized and grassroots decision making. When there
are multiple participants and competing interests in the curriculum-
making process, the question arises, where does control reside? The
standards-based curriculum movement in social studies represents an
effort by policy elites to standardize the content and much of the practice
of education (e.g., Vinson & Ross, 2001). Operationally curriculum-
standards projects in social studies are anti-democratic because they se-
verely restrict the legitimate role of teachers and other educational pro-
fessionals, as well as members of the public, from participating in the
conversation about the origin, nature and ethics of knowledge taught in
the social studies curriculum. The standards-based curriculum movement
ignores the most striking aspect of the teacher’s role in curriculum devel-
opment, which is its inevitability (Thornton, 1997, 2004). Resources that
might have been directed to assisting teachers to become better decision
makers have instead been channeled into a program dedicated to the de-
velopment of schemes for preventing teachers from making curricular de-
cisions. The circumstances described above leads to the final question
addressed in this chapter.
What Is the Social Studies Teacher’s Role in Relation to

the Curriculum?
With regard to curriculum development, the claim that “teachers make a
difference” has most often meant that teachers make or break implemen-
tation efforts and consequently must receive the proper training to make
it rather than break it (Parker, 1987).2 This is the language of teachers as
“curriculum conduits” and it has been the dominant language of curricu-
lum development this century. A fundamental assumption of most cur-
riculum-centralization efforts is that means (instruction) can be separated
from the ends (curricular goals and objectives). Many teachers have inter-
nalized the means-ends distinction between their pedagogy and the cur-
riculum. As a result, they view their professional role as instructional
decision makers not as curriculum developers (Thornton, 2004).
30 E. Wayne Ross
What is clear from studies of teacher decision making, however, is

that teachers do much more than select teaching methods to implement
formally adopted curricular goals. As Thornton argues, teacher beliefs
about social studies subject matter and student thinking in social studies,
as well as planning and instructional strategies, together function to cre-
ate the enacted curriculum of the classroom—the day-to-day interactions
among students, teachers and subject matter.
The difference between the publicly declared formal curriculum
and the curriculum experienced by students in social studies classrooms
is considerable. The key to the curriculum experienced in social studies
classrooms is the teachers:
Teacher’s beliefs about schooling, his or her knowledge of the subject

area and of available materials and techniques, how he or she decides
to put these together for the classroom—out of that process of reflec-
tion and personal inclination comes the day-by-day classroom experi-
ence of students. This is not to say that social studies classes are not
affected by factors such as the characteristics of the students enrolled,
but only to emphasize that the teacher plays the primary structuring
role. (Shaver, Davis, & Helburn, 1980)
Although powerful cultural and institutional forces work to shape

the professional role and identity of teachers, we know that teachers
are not merely passive recipients of the culture of schooling (and the
means-ends distinction found within it). Teachers are actively in-
volved in shaping the culture of schooling. For example, the New So-
cial Studies was unsuccessful largely because teachers did not use the
material or the innovative practices in their classrooms (Marker &
Mehlinger, 1992; Shaver, Davis, & Helburn, 1980; Schubert, 1991).
This example illustrates the importance of focusing on the develop-
ment of the enacted curriculum instead of the formal curriculum.
The teachers’ roles in relation to the curriculum is more properly un-
derstood as “user-developer” rather than “users of teacher-proof cur-
ricula” (Ben-Peretz, 1989).
There are three possible roles for teachers in curriculum implemen-
tation (Ben-Peretz, 1989). First, teachers can use teacher-proof materi-
als (designed to minimize the teacher’s influence). This view of teachers
was adopted at the turn of the twentieth century as history was becoming
established as a school subject. “Good textbooks . . . were the basis of
good teaching and the good textbook, in order to be published, pru-
dently followed the guidance of the two preeminent national history
committees” (Saxe, 1991, p. 29). Arthur Schlesinger Sr., a preeminent
American historian in the early part of this century, put it this way:
“whether we like it or not, the textbook not the teacher teaches the
course” (Saxe, 1991, p. 29). Schlesinger’s thinking was adopted by many
subsequent curriculum reformers as described above. This is clearly not
a desirable role for professional teachers.
A second possible role for teachers in relation to the curriculum is as
“active implementers.” In this role teachers are assumed to have impact
on the implementation of curricular ideas, and curriculum developers
create implementation strategies aimed at helping teachers understand
the curricular innovation. The New Social Studies is an exemplar of this
role for the teacher. Teachers were viewed as active implementers but
not as full partners in the creation of the curriculum. Strategies for pro-
moting the use of the New Social Studies materials focused on preparing
teachers to faithfully implement the developers’ curricular ideas.
A third and most desirable role for teachers is as curriculum user-
developers. From this perspective teachers are assumed to be full part-
ners in development of the enacted curriculum. Teacher inquiry is a key
element in the success of the curriculum because it is inquiry directed at
discovering curriculum potential that leads to the change and transfor-
mation of formal curriculum materials, and most importantly the devel-
opment of new alternatives that are best suited for circumstances the
teacher is working within.
The current standards-based curriculum movement highlights the
contradiction between the views of teachers as active implementers or as
user-developers. Ultimately, however, curriculum improvement depends
on teachers being more thoughtful about their work (see Cornett et al.,
1992; Kesson & Ross, 2004; Parker & McDaniel, 1992; Thornton, 2004).
The most effective means of improving the curriculum is to improve the
education and professional development afforded teachers. Teachers
need to be better prepared to exercise the curricular decision-making re-
sponsibilities that are an inherent part of instructional practice. Early in
this century John Dewey identified the intellectual subservience of teach-
ers as a central problem facing progressive educators in their efforts to im-
prove the curriculum. Dewey saw the solution to the problem as the
development of teaching as professional work. Prospective teachers,
Dewey argued:
should be given to understand that they not only are permitted to act
on their own initiative, but that they are expected to do so and that
their ability to take hold of a situation for themselves would be a more
important factor in judging them than their following any particular set
methods or scheme. (Dewey, 1904, pp. 27–28)
32 E. Wayne Ross
In the context of the standards-based curriculum movement, Dewey’s

diagnosis and treatment are still appropriate today.
Conclusion
In this chapter I have posed three fundamental questions about the social
studies curriculum: (1) What is the social studies curriculum? (2) Who
controls the social studies curriculum? and (3) What is the social studies
teacher’s role in relation to the curriculum? In responding to these ques-
tions I identified a series of tensions and contradiction that have shaped
the field of social studies historically and that still affect it today.
In response to the first question I identified the tension between the
study of academic history and efforts of social meliorists as setting the
stage for a long-standing conflict between advocates of subject-centered
and civics- or issue-centered social studies. In addition, it was argued that
the purposes of the social studies curriculum have essentially been de-
fined by the relative emphasis given to cultural transmission or critical
thinking in the curriculum.
The second question led to an examination of the long-standing ten-
sions between curriculum centralization and grassroots curriculum de-
velopment. The recent standards-based curriculum movement was
discussed in this section and used as a bridge to the consideration of the
final question regarding the role of the social studies teacher in relation
to the curriculum. In the closing section I argued that teachers are the
key element in curriculum improvement and that curriculum change in
the social studies will only be achieved through the improved education
and professional development opportunities for teachers.
My intention has been to present this series of tensions and contra-
dictions as a heuristic for understanding the dynamic nature of the social
studies. It would be a mistake to treat them as definitive oppositionals,
however; it is the struggles over these contradictions that have shaped
the nature of the social studies curriculum in the past and continues to
define it today.
Notes
1. The balance of this section draws directly upon Ross, E. W. (2000a). I am
indebted to the work of William H. Schubert for the historical analysis in this sec-
tion. See Schubert, W. H. (1991). Historical perspective on centralizing the cur-
riculum. In M. F. Klein (Ed.), The politics of curriculum decision-making (pp.
98–118). Albany: State University of New York Press.
2. This section draws upon Ross, E. W. (1990). “Teachers as curriculum the-
orizers.” In E. W. Ross (Ed.), Reflective practice in social studies (pp. 35–41).
Washington, DC: National Council for the Social Studies.
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Westheimer, J., & Kahne, J. (2004). What Kind of Citizen? The Politics of Edu-
cating for Democracy. American Educational Research Journal, 41(2), 237–269.
Whelan, M. (1992). History and the social studies: A response to the critics. The-
ory and Research in Social Education, 20(1), 2–16.
Wirth, A. G. (1992). Education and work in the year 2000. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.
PART I
PURPOSES OF THE
CHAPTER 2
TEACHING HISTORY
A CONSTRUCTIVIST APPROACH
Michael Whelan
Introduction
Disagreement about curriculum issues in social studies education is not
new or reason for undue concern. On the contrary, since social studies
emerged as a school subject early in the twentieth century, its develop-
ment has been characterized, and indeed often energized, by a diversity
of opinion regarding its nature, its purposes, and, as a result, its most ap-
propriate curriculum organization. Fundamental questions—whether
social studies is a unified field of study or a cluster of separate disciplines,
for example—have been considered and contested for decades.
In recent years, however, an ongoing debate between advocates of a
history-centered approach to social studies education and those calling for
curriculum based on the interdisciplinary study of current social issues has
become so adversarial as to threaten the field with factionalism, thereby
undermining the pluralism from which social studies has frequently bene-
fited. Rather than engaging in a critical yet constructive discussion about
their respective curriculum positions, prominent spokespersons on both
sides of this debate have taken rigid, uncompromising stands; devised his-
torical interpretations to bolster their competing claims of legitimacy; and
assailed each other’s proposals as anti-intellectual, anti-egalitarian, and a
threat to the nation’s basic institutions (e.g., Evans, 2004; Nash, et al.,
1997; Whelan, et al., 1992).
Furthermore, like many educational policy disputes, this debate has in-
creasingly become an end in itself, and as such, of little practical conse-
quence for social studies teachers. It is not that the issues involved are
37
38 Michael Whelan
inconsequential, far from it, but rather that their significance has been con-
fused and obscured as people on both sides of the question have pressed
ever more ideologically arcane arguments in an effort to gain some dubious
debating advantage. Such stridency has done little but lend credence to
James Lemming’s (1989) troubling contention of a broad, dysfunctional
gulf between social studies theorists and classroom practitioners.
The central issue of this curriculum debate is addressed directly in
this chapter, but hopefully, in a less contentious, more judicious manner.
The principal argument advanced is that social studies education should
be history-centered, but that historical study should be organized in ways
that seek to further social studies’ traditional educational goals, includ-
ing, above all, its special responsibility for citizenship education. Thus,
the chapter is divided into two related parts: the first offering a series of
observations about the essential constuctivist nature of historical knowl-
edge and the implications that derive therefrom for purposes of effective
instruction; and the second suggesting a series of guidelines for teachers
to use in implementing a history-centered curriculum true to social stud-
ies’ longstanding citizenship goals.
The Nature of Historical Knowledge

“Why do we have to study all this stupid stuff about the past?” some stu-
dent seems invariably to ask, usually with unmasked irritability and frus-
tration. “And who cares about people who were dead and gone before we
were even born?” others seem just as certain to chime in once that first
complaining question has been voiced. Unfortunately, many teachers re-
spond to these sorts of questions with answers as predictable and familiar
as the questions themselves. “History teaches lessons,” they reprovingly
reply, “and those who fail to study it will be condemned to repeat it.”
For a time, that answer—and the teacher’s position of authority—
may carry the day. But sooner or later, further questions about history’s
educational value, or lack thereof, almost always resurface, for students
seem to know intuitively that there is something wrong with the teacher’s
argument. Which, in fact, there is. That is not to deny that history teaches
lessons, but to acknowledge that it teaches so many as to make it all but
impossible to determine with any certainty which apply to a given situa-
tion. During the run-up to the recent war with Iraq, for example, people
in favor of and others opposed to military intervention confidently cited
historical lessons in support of their respective, yet contradictory posi-
tions: the former the lessons of Munich and the latter those of Vietnam.
As this and countless other examples make clear, history does not
offer the sort of guidance that the “lessons” rationale for its study alleges.
In fact, this commonplace rationale for history education is often indica-
Teaching History 39
tive of an uncertain understanding of the nature of historical knowledge

that, in many instances, is at the heart of students’ dissatisfaction with the
way the subject is taught. What is needed, therefore, if history is to real-
ize its full and unique educational potential is greater clarity about its
fundamental characteristics, both as a means of inquiry and a mode of
understanding. Three issues are critical in this regard.
First, teachers must dispel the most common misconception about
the nature of history; that is, that it seeks simply to study the past, when
in fact its locus of inquiry is the intricately complex relationship between
the past and the present. If the study of history focused solely on the past,
it would be difficult indeed to justify its claim to a central place in the
school curriculum. But that is not the case. Rather, the inquiries that his-
tory makes of the past are made for reasons similar to those that other
disciplines inquire into questions about causation; knowledge of the past
can enlighten the present, much the way knowledge of a cause can en-
lighten its effects. Things are the way they are, in other words, in large
part because they were the way they were. Or stated more simply, the pre-
sent is a product of the past, and this plain, yet profoundly significant
truth should be the starting point for all historical study in schools.
To do otherwise, to study the unfolding development of the past as if
it were a series of discrete events, each complete and somehow discon-
nected from each other, and ultimately, from the present, greatly dimin-
ishes history’s educative potential. Things only make sense in relationship
to other things. Thus, all human history, like the history of each human
life, is best understood as “a seamless web”—to borrow the phrase made fa-
mous by Frederick Maitland and Charles Beard—with each “part” con-
nected to, and more importantly, intelligible within this interrelated
whole. It is crucial, therefore, that students study history the way they
“view” a movie, and not the way they look at a series of snapshots. A histor-
ical event, like a single “frame” of a movie, can be understood fully only if
analyzed in relationship to those that went before and after, all connected
by their antecedents and consequences, and thus ultimately enlightening
the present. Therein lies history’s considerable potential to create educa-
tional experiences that are relevant and meaningful to students’ lives.
The relationship between past and present in historical study is also
evident in the way historians actually “do” history. This process has been
aptly described by E. H. Carr (1961, pp. 3–35) as a “dialogue” through
time in which a historian in the present carries on a “conversation” with
facts about the past discovered in historical sources. And much the way
many literary critics see neither reader nor text as necessarily controlling
the process of constructing meaning, but emphasize instead the interac-
tion between the two, so it is with historical interpretation. Facts about
the past do not “speak” for themselves, but take on meaning only as
40 Michael Whelan
explicated by historians, or by students. Albert Bushnell Hart (1910,

pp. 227–251) made this point quite graphically when he described the
process of doing history as a sort of intellectual alchemy, one in which a
historian transforms “the lifeless lead of the annals . . . [into] . . . the shin-
ing gold” of historical understanding.
The underlying truth to which Carr and Hart both refer is that of his-
tory’s essential interpretive nature. This is not to question the dictum that
every historical generalization must be grounded in factual evidence, but
to affirm that history is something more than a mere condensation of facts,
for facts in and of themselves are like formless, empty sacks, devoid of sub-
stantial meaning. They are necessary for historical generalization, but not
sufficient. Real, vital historical understanding requires someone to bring
the facts “to life” through the animating power of interpretation. Meaning,
that is, must be assigned. It is a fact, for example, that John Brown was
hanged on December 2, 1859, but simply knowing this fact is not knowing
history, for history is not “knowing” at all, but interpreting, a much more
profound and engaging intellectual challenge. In this case, as in all others,
that challenge requires the historian—and the student of history—to grap-
ple with many complex questions about causation, characterization, and
significance. Answering such questions, moreover, involves many intellec-
tual skills and abilities; among them, the investigative and analytical pow-
ers of a scientist, the synoptic insight of a philosopher, an artist’s feel for
the realities and possibilities of human existence, and a journalist’s sense
of the vibrancy and plausible patterns of human behavior.
Finally, many students—as well as many teachers—fail to understand
that history is inherently an interdisciplinary subject. Even if historical
study is limited to an investigation of political and military questions, as
it too often is, especially in schools, it nevertheless necessitates one to
draw upon ideas, theories, concepts, and methods of inquiry associated
with many academic disciplines. It is impossible, for example, to make
sense of the oft-duplicitous policies of the United States toward so many
other countries during the Cold War without this sort of interdisciplinary
investigation. It is also impossible, to cite a more recent example, to dis-
cern the multiple layers of causation and meaning involved in the cur-
rent cultural debate about the rights of gays and lesbians without viewing
this acrimonious debate through several disciplinary lenses (Thornton,
et al., 2002). Similarly, one need only briefly consider all of the many fac-
tors involved in the changing patterns of wealth and income distribution
in the United States during the past generation to understand the inher-
ent interdisciplinary nature of historical inquiry.
To a great extent this interdisciplinary nature is a direct result of his-
tory’s all-encompassing breadth of inquiry. No aspect of human exis-
tence and its development through time is beyond the scope of historical
Teaching History 41
investigation and analysis. History is uniquely predisposed, therefore, to

synthesize subject matter from the full range of human knowledge. For
this reason alone, history is the subject best suited to serve as the curric-
ular core of social studies education (Whelan, 1997).
Not surprisingly, most of the misunderstandings about the nature
of history discussed in this section tend to manifest themselves—and,
unfortunately, perpetuate themselves—in the way history is typically
taught, especially in schools. In most cases, students studying history are
merely expected to “consume” the conclusions of others, and not “pro-
duce” any knowledge or meaning for themselves. Distortions are in-
evitable if one’s experiences and perspectives are so limited. The
comparison that comes immediately to mind is that of the software fa-
cilitating the writing of this manuscript: from a consumer’s point of
view, the software transforms the computer on which it is running into a
highly efficient typewriter, but in doing so, masks the considerable com-
plexity involved in that transformation, as well as the computer’s con-
siderable potential to serve many other purposes. This situation,
unfortunately, is similar to the way history is taught and studied in
schools. Students are routinely put into consumer positions, from which
it is natural, indeed all but inevitable, that they misunderstand the true
nature of historical knowledge, seeing it as more replicable than inter-
pretive, more exclusive than associative, and more narrowly focused on
what was than on the relationship between what was and what is and is
becoming. As is often the case, however, the source of these problems
suggests solutions, although solutions not easily implemented.
Implementing a History-Centered Curriculum

Teachers, more than anyone else, determine the curriculum that stu-
dents experience. And if the myriad decisions that social studies teachers
make in this regard are divided into two broad categories—instructional
strategy decisions and decisions about curriculum content—research in-
dicates that they feel more responsibility for the former than the latter
(Thornton, 1991). Decisions about curriculum, most apparently believe,
are properly the province of “official” or “quasi-official” agencies, such as
state education departments, school district committees, or, by default,
textbook publishing companies. Too many social studies teachers seem
to see their roles as simply “teaching” the curriculum, not “defining” it.
Compounding this problem, research also indicates that the instruc-
tional strategies that social studies teachers tend to rely on most—that is,
teacher-dominated, textbook-driven lecture and discussion—often fail to
stimulate the high-level cognition among students that is needed to study
history properly (Thornton, 1991, p. 245).
42 Michael Whelan
The implementation of a history-centered curriculum consistent

with social studies’ ultimate objective of active, enlightened citizenship
will therefore require considerable reform of both of these instructional
patterns. Teachers must assume more responsibility for the content of
the courses they teach and also alter classroom practice so that students
regularly engage in activities that promote the sort of complex, critical
thinking associated with interpreting—that is, assigning meaning to—
factual information.
Such reforms, at least according to some theorists (Whelan, et al.,
1992), will be all but impossible to implement in a history-centered so-
cial studies curriculum. History, these critical theorists maintain, is pe-
culiarly predisposed to ineffective instructional practice and tends
therefore to result in inappropriate educational experiences for stu-
dents. Ronald Evans (Whelan, et al., pp. 313–314) advances perhaps
the most sweeping case in support of this contention, arguing that the
study of history inspires “didactic forms of teaching” in which knowl-
edge is passively accepted by students and stored away for some uncer-
tain future use; that it devalues the “lived experiences” of students and
teachers and the “cultural knowledge” that both bring to the class-
room; that it serves as a forum for a great deal of “noncritical chroni-
cling” in which knowledge is valued solely for the sake of knowing; and
perhaps most damning, that history frequently serves as “a subtle
means of oppression by emphasizing the stories of dominant elites, glo-
rifying national heroes, minimizing the contributions of people of
color and de-emphasizing or omitting controversial questions.”
Although these generalizations may in fact accurately describe the way
history is often taught in schools, there is no reason to suppose that the
reasons it is so taught are somehow specifically rooted in historical subject
matter. Neither logic nor research supports such a conclusion. To suggest,
as Evans’ argument does, that ineffective teachers will somehow become
more effective if they simply teach something other than history greatly
over-simplifies the complexities involved in organizing classroom instruc-
tion. Curriculum reform, in other words, whether history-centered, issues-
centered or otherwise, is highly unlikely by itself to transform the sterile,
uninspiring instructional practices that many maintain are all too common
among social studies educators (Goodlad, 1984). Research, moreover,
though sketchy, seems to confirm this deductive conclusion, indicating
that social studies teachers have apparently varied their teaching styles very
little, if at all, as curriculum emphases have changed through the years
(Cuban, 1991). Rather, a “few key patterns” of instructional practice have
dominated the field for the last hundred or so years. To attribute such
“pervasive constancy” solely, or even predominantly, to the single factor of
the historical subject matter being taught is, quite simply, a superficial
Teaching History 43
analysis that challenges both research-based and experience-based knowl-

edge about social studies instruction (Cuban, pp. 205–206).
Still, Evans’ critique underscores two points of fundamental impor-
tance: first, that history’s potential to promote worthy citizenship is un-
dermined if it is taught in a way that contradicts sound pedagogical
practice; and second, that a history-centered curriculum in which con-
troversial questions are avoided or deemphasized, or the experiences
and perspectives of certain groups of people are arbitrarily ignored or
misrepresented, is more akin to indoctrination than a defensible con-
ception of social studies education.
Research about effective history instruction (e.g., Downey & Levstik,
1991; Levsitk & Barton, 2001) clearly demonstrates that students learn
best when they are active, not passive; when they are creative, and not
merely receptive; and when they are regularly put in positions to exercise
their powers of critical judgment, rather than merely required to memo-
rize (and periodically regurgitate) masses of factual information. Such
practice is grounded not only in sound pedagogical principle, but also
entails intellectual skills and attitudes consistent with the nature of his-
torical knowledge and the goal of active, enlightened citizenship.
Effective instructional practice, though necessary, is nevertheless
insufficient. The curriculum content of historical study must contribute
as well to social studies’ citizenship goals. To do so, teachers must em-
phasize those aspects of the past that continue to inform and enlighten
students’ lives in the present, both as individuals and, more important,
as contributing members of various social groups. Thus, teachers, in
light of their close personal contact with students, are the people best
positioned to assume ultimate responsibility for the day-to-day curricu-
lum content decisions about historical study at the classroom level. As
they do, at least four interrelated curricular considerations should guide
their decision making.
First, a history-centered curriculum cannot fulfill its educational po-
tential if students’ attention, as previously mentioned, is fixed solely on
the past. Rather, students studying history must regularly ask questions of
the past that help inform issues affecting their lives in the present. To fa-
cilitate such study, teachers cannot teach the “same old stuff” year after
year, but must revise curriculum content on an ongoing basis. As condi-
tions in the present inevitably change, the topics teachers include in a his-
tory-centered curriculum must change accordingly. Some topics—such as
slavery and immigration, for example, in a course about United States his-
tory—will rarely, if ever, be omitted; but the emphasis and perspective
these “perennials” receive, and the decisions teachers make about other
topics to include or exclude, will depend to a great extent on the ever-
changing social circumstances in which they and their students live.
44 Michael Whelan
Although it is true that the past never changes, it is also true—and

much more important for purposes of instruction—that the present sig-
nificance of the past continually changes. Thus, a historical issue that
may be essential for students to study today may just as well be a matter of
mere antiquarian curiosity sometime in the future. The international
crises that erupted over the Quemoy and Matsu islands during the 1950s,
a situation whose historical significance quickly diminished to that of
footnote status only to take on renewed urgency in light of circumstances
that developed in the 1990s, is admittedly an extreme example, but one
that nevertheless highlights the fundamental point: many curriculum de-
cisions appropriate for one time or one group of students are not neces-
sarily appropriate for all times or all students. One need only consider
the 9/11 attacks, to cite once again the most obvious recent example, to
appreciate how changing circumstances in the present can radically re-
orient our understanding of what is and is not significant about the past.
Teachers’ responsibility to adjust a history-centered curriculum to
meet students’ needs and concerns in the present, both socially and in-
tellectually, further calls into question the advisability of establishing
uniform curriculum content standards for historical study. Such stan-
dards, in all likelihood, will serve to restrict the curriculum flexibility
that is so essential to a meaningful course of study. No single historical
curriculum can possibly meet the needs of all students. The advice im-
plicit in this observation is no less true today than it was when made by
the Committee on Social Studies in 1916 (p. 41). Indeed, in the in-
creasingly interrelated complexities of our modern, global existence,
the more things change the more things change more. Thus, any effort
to standardize the content of a history-centered curriculum, no matter
how well-intentioned, assumes, but erroneously so, that all students will
always need to ask the same questions of the past. Although it may be
worthwhile to consider adopting uniform standards with respect to the
analytical skills and intellectual dispositions involved in asking and an-
swering historical questions (i.e., the basic skills and attitudes needed to
engage in historical inquiry), any effort to establish uniform curriculum
content standards is a shortsighted, counter-productive idea that is con-
tradictory of history’s fundamental nature and also the ultimate pur-
poses for its study. Decisions about what a particular group of students
should or should not study are best left to classroom teachers, rather
than some remote curriculum committee, no matter how well inten-
tioned or esteemed its members.
At least one generalization about curriculum content is appropriate,
however. If a history-centered curriculum is to inform issues of present
student concern it must include a wider range of topics than has long
been the norm. This recommendation is certainly not new. Again, the
Committee on Social Studies (p. 44) made the same suggestion in 1916.
Teaching History 45
Still, it was not until the last 30 years or so that historians have begun to
generate the type of scholarship needed to make a more inclusive history
curriculum a real possibility (Foner 1990, 1997; Kammen 1980). Now,
however, new scholarship in many areas of study previously ignored or
poorly apprehended—issues about women and various ethnic groups;
cultural and intellectual developments; rural, urban and suburban life;
familial and informal community relations; and many other topics often
categorized under the broad general heading of “social history”—hold
the potential to transform significantly the traditional history curricu-
lum. No longer must students focus so exclusively on questions about
military and political matters, but may now consider a much wider spec-
trum of social and cultural issues, many of much greater import to their
present lives.
Furthermore, this new historical scholarship often involves innova-
tive interdisciplinary methods of inquiry and analysis. In many cases, it
also entails or encourages the consideration of historical phenomena
from more than one point of view. Thus, the infusion of the curriculum
with topics arising from this scholarship may enhance history’s educative
potential in a number of significant ways. In addition to helping students
better understand a wider and more relevant range of historical issues, it
may also help them grasp more fully the central role of interpretation in
historical study, and, perhaps more important still, to appreciate the es-
sential role that empathy and tolerance play in maintaining democratic
institutions. Provision should be made therefore for students to become
familiar with the content and methods of inquiry of this new historical
scholarship. To do so, a history-centered curriculum should include
numerous opportunities for students to study nontraditional topics
(e.g., crime, leisure time, sports, popular culture, health care, formal ed-
ucation, and patterns of familial organization) and also to study more
traditional topics from less traditional points of view (i.e., from the “bot-
tom-up” as well as the “top-down”).
Provision should be made as well for students to study things that never
happened. This may sound odd in a history-centered curriculum, but it is
nevertheless important. If the study of history is to contribute to the goal of
active, enlightened citizenship, students should regularly consider, as
Shirley Engle (1990) suggested some time ago now, history in the “hypo-
thetical” mood. That is, they should consider how things might have been,
and not simply how they actually were. Such counter-factual reflection is
particularly valuable in analyzing political and public policy matters, which,
despite the new potential for more inclusive study, are likely to continue to
hold a central place in any school-level history curriculum, and rightfully so
considering history’s citizenship purposes. In many cases, however, political
decisions and policy matters cannot be understood fully or evaluated fairly
without considering the likely consequences of possible alternatives.
46 Michael Whelan
Some may argue that this sort of inquiry is mere speculation and in-
appropriate therefore in historical study. But in fact counter-factual
analysis can be very instructive. How, for example, is one to evaluate the
policy decisions of Lincoln or Franklin Roosevelt without considering
the range of possible options open to them at the time? Or how is one to
understand historical decisions about transportation, immigration, and
weapons production, to cite but a few other examples, without asking
questions about how these matters might have been decided differently?
Choosing among alternatives on the basis of rational inquiry is the
essence of democratic citizenship at its most basic level. The systematic
study of such alternatives should therefore be an essential part of a his-
tory-centered social studies curriculum.
There is a still more fundamental understanding about the nature of
human existence that the study of historical alternatives can illuminate,
however, one that is often lost in the course of conventional history in-
struction. The past, students need to understand, was not preordained
and could have unfolded very differently. It was determined to a great ex-
tent, much the way the future will be determined, by decisions that peo-
ple made or failed to make. Studying history without considering its
possible alternatives can obscure this fundamental point, leaving stu-
dents with the profoundly mistaken impression that the past was deter-
mined apart from human volition and agency. Such an impression can
contribute to feelings of alienation, powerlessness, and dissatisfaction,
feelings clearly antithetical to the citizenship goals that social studies
seeks to promote.
Finally, a history-centered curriculum should be organized around
the study of historical conditions, and not simply historical events. Dis-
proportionate attention to the latter can quickly degenerate into a dry,
dreary regimen of superficial chronicling having little educative value or
meaning. The interpretive analysis of the conditions underlying histori-
cal events can lead quite naturally, however, to enlightening comparative
studies of similar or analogous conditions in the present. Questions
about gender and familial relations that developed in rural/frontier en-
vironments in the United States during the eighteenth and nineteenth
centuries, for example, will likely raise many questions among students
about how theses same relations have developed in urban/suburban en-
vironments during the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.
The educational values involved in such comparative studies are sim-
ilar in many ways to those involved in analyzing historical alternatives.
Such comparisons, however, also help resolve a more practical curricu-
lum problem in history education. Too often the study of current or re-
cent social issues is confined to the final two weeks of a history course
based on strict adherence to chronology or restricted to a weekly “cur-
rent events day” in which issues are considered in an ad hoc, decontex-
Teaching History 47
tualized fashion. Neither option is satisfactory. Comparing social condi-

tions through time is certainly preferable, for it provides students with a
meaningful framework within which to consider current issues in their
broad historical context on a regular basis.
Chronology should not be abandoned in the interest of some crudely
simplistic notion relevance, of course. To do so would be both unwise and
unnecessary. Many of today’s most urgent social issues have long histories
and can be addressed within a chronologically ordered course of study
that allows for regular historical comparisons through time. All social is-
sues, moreover, are historical phenomena and best studied therefore
within a history-centered framework. To do otherwise, to study social is-
sues in seriatim apart from their historical context—to study environ-
mental issues during the first half of the tenth grade and issues about war
and peace during the second half, for example—will only add to the in-
authenticity of social studies education. Issues that affect students’ lives,
like all other social issues, do not occur in isolation. Each, on the contrary,
is always part of a crowded social agenda and as such must compete with
others for public attention and the allocation of scarce resources. Within
this context, different issues, even those seemingly quite distinct, are in-
evitably linked: decisions about one affect the range of possible decisions
that can be made about others. Such interrelated complexity is the real-
ity of human existence, and social studies education should be organized
in a way that embraces this reality, thereby helping students understand it.
If, for example, the long history of class and ethnic segregation in the
United States were studied in isolation, apart from its wide-ranging web of
social causation, it would likely appear far less complicated than it actually
has been, leading students to believe that it can be overcome by some sim-
plistic scheme or, even more mistakenly, that it has been caused and sus-
tained solely by some nebulous conspiracy. As H. L. Mencken once
cautioned in typically acerbic fashion: for every complex social problem
there is a simple solution that is usually wrong. Studying social issues apart
from their historical context would seem just such a solution.
In sum, two interrelated ideas underlie the suggestions offered in
this section: first, if the study of history is to contribute as fully as possible
to social studies’ ultimate goal of active, enlightened citizenship, teach-
ers must take greater responsibility for defining the content of the cur-
riculum on a day-to-day basis; and second, as they do they must organize
the curriculum in ways that help students make better sense of the mul-
tiple factors that influence their lives in the present. To do otherwise, in
particular to perpetuate the long prevalent curriculum and instructional
patterns of the past, will inevitably, and regrettably, result in a wholly un-
tenable notion of social studies education, one largely inconsistent with
the nature of the historical knowledge and the ultimate purpose for
which it should be studied in schools.
48 Michael Whelan
Conclusion
Social studies education will never be problem-free, of course, no matter
how its curriculum is constituted. Certain dilemmas—such as breadth
versus depth, chronology versus themes, dominant culture versus partic-
ular culture, teacher as advocate versus teacher as neutral—are either
unique to or particularly acute in social studies education. They will
never be fully or finally resolved. The point, therefore, to paraphrase
Winston Churchill, is that a history-centered curriculum, while not per-
fect, is nevertheless better than anything else.
History’s claim to a central, unifying place in social studies education
is based on more than relative expediency, however. In fact, its most com-
pelling claim to such a place arises from the profound understanding that
the nature of human existence is essentially historical. Some may quickly
counter that human existence is nothing if not multifaceted, with social,
cultural, political and economic dimensions, to name just a few. But these
aspects of human existence are but abstractions if considered apart from
the course of human history. The complex relationships within and
among individuals and groups, which is a large part of the subject matter
of sociology, for example, are in fact historical phenomena. The same is
true of the subject matter of anthropology, cultural geography, econom-
ics, and political science. All analyze historical phenomena that are best
understood as they actually happened; that is, within an historical con-
text. Indeed, whatever meaning life may hold is largely derived from re-
flecting on experience, and human experience, in all its variability and
developmental complexity, is the subject matter of historical study. Per-
haps, that is why all peoples have always studied history. In one way or an-
other, it explains who they are.
History, in other words, is the only social studies subject open to the
whole range of human experience and its development through time. It is
distinctively disposed, therefore, to draw upon and synthesize knowledge,
values and methodologies from all other fields of study. For this reason, it
is also the most natural and best suited discipline around which to orga-
nize the social studies curriculum. If historical study is based on a few fun-
damental principles—specifically, that students consider the relationship
between the past and the present, and not simply the past; that they inter-
pret rather than simply memorize historical information, thereby con-
structing their own understanding of its meaning; that they investigate a
wider range of social and cultural issues, including the conditioning fac-
tors that underlie them; and that they reflect on the likely consequences of
alternatives to historical decisions, especially with respect to political and
public policy matters—then a history-centered curriculum can provide stu-
dents with a truly engaging, authentic, and enlightening course of study.
Teaching History 49
References
Carr, E. H. (1961). What is history? New York: Vintage Books.
[Committee on Social Studies]. (1916). The social studies in secondary education,
Bulletin no. 28. Washington, DC: Government Printing Office.
Cuban, L. (1991). History of teaching in social studies. In J. P. Shaver (Ed.),
Handbook of research on social studies teaching and learning (pp. 197–209). New
York: Macmillan.
Downey, M. T., & Levstik, L. S. (1991). Teaching and learning history. In
J. P. Shaver (Ed.), Handbook of research on social studies teaching and learning.
(pp. 400–410). New York: Macmillan.
Engle, S. H. (1990). The commission report and citizenship education. Social
Education, 54(7), 431–434.
Evans, R. W. (1992). Reaction and response. Theory and Research in Social Educa-
tion, 20(3), 313–318.
Foner, E. (Ed.). (1990). The new American history. Philadelphia: Temple University
Press.
Foner, E. (Ed.). (1997). The new American history: Revised and expanded edition.
Philadelphia: Temple University Press.
Goodlad, J. I. (1984). A place called school: Prospects for the future. New York:
McGraw-Hill.
Hart, A. B. (1910). Imagination in history. The American Historical Review, XV(2),
227–251.
Kammen, M. (1980). The past before us: Contemporary historical writing in the United
States. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.
Leming, J. S. (1989). The two cultures of social studies education. Social Educa-
tion, 53(6), 404–408.
Levstik, L., & Barton, K. C. (2001). Committing acts of history: Mediated action,
humanistic education, and participatory democracy. In W. B. Stanley (Ed.),
Critical issues in social studies research for the 21st century (pp. 119–147). Green-
wich, CT: Information Age Publishing.
Nash, G., et al. (1997). History on trial: Culture Wars and the teaching of the past. New
York: Alfred A. Knopf.
Nelson, J. L. (1990). Charting a course backwards: A response to the National
Commission’s nineteenth century social studies program. Social Education,
54(7), 434–437.
Thornton, S. J. (1991). Teacher as curriculum-instructional gatekeeper in social-
studies. In J. P. Shaver (Ed.), Handbook or research on social studies teaching and
learning (pp. 237–248). New York: Macmillan.
Thornton, S. J., et al. (2002). Special issue: Social education and sexual identity.
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sibilities (pp. 21–37). Albany: State University of New York Press.
CHAPTER 3
OPPRESSION, ANTI-OPPRESSION, AND
CITIZENSHIP EDUCATION
Kevin D. Vinson
The notion of “oppression,” as well as its multiple meanings, contexts,

and conditions, has been a concern among U.S. educators for quite
some time. Its significance and visibility increased following the publica-
tion of Paulo Freire’s (1970) landmark Pedagogy of the Oppressed, as did the
interest in understanding its circumstances and challenging its effects.
Recently, however, a number of factors have contributed both to its col-
lapse and subsequent resurrection as a substantive concept. These fac-
tors include the ascendancy of contemporary critical discourses, such as
postmodernism/poststructuralism, feminist theory, critical race theory,
deconstructionism, neo-Marxism, and contemporary critical pedagogy,
and the perception that U.S. society remains unjust, particularly in terms
of characteristics constructed around identifiers such as race, ethnicity,
gender, culture, language, class, sexuality, and age.
Yet while certain fashionable, poststructural and postmodern theories
seemingly hyperprivilege the “local” and hypersubjugate the “societal”—
with the societal or structural being the traditional locus of oppression
and its study—at least some recent critical efforts in education have
sought a sort of reconciliation, a recognition that while localized relations
of power are important, there still exists a multitude of dangerous sys-
temic inequalities that must be addressed (e.g., McLaren, 1995a, 1995b).
Thus, many of today’s critical pedagogical theorists maintain a somewhat
traditional interest in oppression and its characteristics even while situat-
ing their concerns within the instabilities and dynamics of the evolving
“postmodern condition.”
In this chapter, my primary purpose is to apply the “five faces of
oppression” framework established by Iris Marion Young (1992) to the
51
52 Kevin D. Vinson
circumstances and practices of contemporary citizenship education (es-

pecially regarding high school social studies via a set of exemplar “case
studies”). My aim is to analyze and appropriate this model as a means by
which to interpret and critique both the “oppressive” and “anti-oppres-
sive” possibilities of citizenship education.
While I do nonetheless sympathize with many of the concerns pre-
sented by recent postmodern/poststructural criticism, I do also accept that,
as a practical and critical concept, oppression still has much to offer. Al-
though the postmodern disdain for grand narratives, a unified or essential
self, and universality offers needed insights into contemporary existence as
well as a corrective to modernist social and pedagogical theory, insights with
which I agree, I disagree that the postmodern critique automatically elimi-
nates the obligation to pursue certain structural understandings. Nor,
further, does postmodernism’s privileging of the local, discursivity, situat-
edness, contingency, and multiple subjectivities, although no doubt each of
these is important. For as Apple (1996) succinctly states, “It ain’t all local”
(p. 109). I recognize that (1) certain modes of postmodernism have made
oppression philosophically somewhat unfashionable; (2) this particular
condition might prove ultimately problematic; and (3) all things consid-
ered, an anti-oppressive citizenship education is preferable to an oppressive
one. Because simply, in today’s climate, a focus on oppression remains both
timely and useful. Consider, for example, the following contemporary cir-
cumstances and their relationships to children and public schooling:
• lingering income and wealth gaps between the haves and the
have-nots;
• the continuing commercialization of children and schools (e.g.,
via corporate advertising [e.g., Giroux, 1998]);
• the legislating of anti-immigration and anti-affirmative action sen-
timents as formal government policy;
• the criminalization of African-American male and other “minor-
ity” youth;
• the exploitation of school violence (e.g., the power of the gun
lobby and the proliferation of media coverage—all directed
toward increased profits, power, and the creation of markets);
• the privatization/marketization of public schooling (e.g., vouch-
ers, choice);
• the abandonment of inner cities;
• the move toward standardization;
• the disparity in achievement between wealthy and less wealthy
schools and school districts;
• the elimination of long-term, high-paying jobs, and the assault on
organized labor;
Oppression, Anti-Oppression, and Citizenship Education 53
• homophobia (especially as gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender

adolescents seek to form school-based clubs and organizations);
• persisting issues of gender, gender inequalities, and gender
differences;
• censorship (e.g., recent attempts in Maryland to remove Maya An-
gelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings from the curriculum); and
• the hegemonic social conservatism of the New Right (e.g., re-
newed efforts to sanction school prayer and to abolish meaningful
sexuality education).
Although this list is necessarily incomplete, it should nonetheless

suggest the existence of a variety of structurally oppressive conditions,
conditions that cannot be understood as purely local, and conditions
that affect the overall state of U.S. public education. That they are actu-
alized locally and that their meanings are contextually, contingently, so-
cially, and discursively constructed goes without saying. Still, they
represent forces that must be understood and disrupted at the societal
level, forces that present unique challenges to the production of a mean-
ingful and democratic citizenship and citizenship education.
This chapter is organized as follows. First, I provide an overview
of Young’s (1992) conceptualization of oppression and its five faces.
Second, I consider briefly the meaning of citizenship education within
the contexts of contemporary social studies. Third, I explore the op-
pressive and anti-oppressive possibilities of citizenship and citizenship
education with respect to several well-known and important case
studies. And fourth, I suggest alternatives, specifically those grounded
in the works of (1) Paulo Freire and those theorists whom he influ-
enced (e.g., Greene and hooks); (2) democratic education, and
(3) cultural studies. I conclude by offering implications of this work
for citizenship education both in terms of social studies research and
classroom practice.
This chapter is written to generate meaningful and significant ques-
tions—if not necessarily correct answers—and will hopefully incite de-
bate and stimulate discussion related to the connections and potential
connections between citizenship education and the conditions of op-
pression. Its significance depends on (and/or should depend on) the ex-
tent to which it challenges social educators to reexamine their work
vis-à-vis the complex risks of supporting certain social, economic, politi-
cal, cultural, and pedagogical practices over others, especially in terms of
the realities of oppression. Ultimately, its importance rests in its capacity
to contribute substantively to a citizenship education that takes seriously,
challenges, disrupts, and seeks to depose oppression and its multiple and
disparate circumstances, causes, effects, and actualities.
54 Kevin D. Vinson
The “Five Faces of Oppression”

In this section I focus on identifying and defining Young’s (1992) “faces”
or “disparate categories” of oppression. These are, namely, “exploita-
tion,” “marginalization,” “powerlessness,” “cultural imperialism,” and “vi-
olence.” My contention is that an understanding of these conditions can
contribute to a broad project of interpretation, critique, and reconstruc-
tion in terms of creating a citizenship education more conducive to the
circumstances of social justice, freedom, equality, and multicultural di-
versity (both in terms of schools and society).
Such an effort demands, of course, a clarification of important yet pos-
sibly problematic terminology. Specifically, it requires some introductory
(at least) treatment of not only Young’s (1992) individual categories but
also such critical concepts as “oppression” itself and “social group.” For
Young, oppression means not simply its traditional connotation of “the
exercise of tyranny by a ruling group” (p. 175) but also its “new left . . .
designat[ion of] the disadvantage and injustice some people suffer not be-
cause a tyrannical power intends to keep them down, but because of the
everyday practices of a well-intentioned liberal society” (pp. 175–176). It
“refers to systemic and structural phenomena that are not necessarily the
result of the intentions of a tyrant [but are in fact] part of the basic fabric of
a society, not a function of a few people’s choice or policies. . . . Oppression
refers to structural phenomena that immobilize or reduce a group. . . . To
be in a [social] group is to share with others a way of life that defines a
person’s identity and by which other people identify him or her”
(pp. 176–177). As I argue below, such meanings present clear and signifi-
cant ramifications for contemporary citizenship education.
Moreover, this project necessitates an understanding of the individ-
ual components or classifications of oppression. In particular, I build
upon Young’s (1992) meanings as follows:
exploitation: [A state of] domination [that occurs] through a steady

process of the transfer of the results of the labor of some people to ben-
efit others . . . [via a] relation of power and inequality [that] is pro-
duced and reproduced through a systematic process in which the
energies of the have-nots are continuously expended to maintain and
augment the power, status, and wealth of the haves. (pp. 181–186);
marginalization: [The creation of] people . . . the system of labor markets
cannot or will not employ . . . [a] most dangerous form of oppression [in
which a] whole category of people is expelled from useful participation
in social life, then potentially subject to severe material deprivation and
even extermination; it deprives dependent persons of rights and free-
doms that others have . . . [and] blocks such opportunity to exercise ca-
pacities in socially defined and recognized ways. (pp. 186–188);
powerlessness: The absence of genuine democracy . . . [where] most peo-

ple do not participate in making decisions that regularly affect the con-
ditions of their lives and actions . . . [it] describes the lives of people
who have little or no work autonomy[,] little creativity or judgment in
their work, have no technical expertise or authority, express themselves
awkwardly, especially in public or bureaucratic settings, and do not
command respect; [it refers to those] lack[ing an] orientation toward
the progressive development of [their] capacities . . . [and who lack] au-
tonomy . . . authority, expertise, or influence. (pp. 188–190);
cultural imperialism: [T]he experience of existing in a society whose dom-

inant meanings render the particular perspectives and point of view of
one’s own group invisible at the same time as they stereotype one’s group
and mark it out as “other”; [it consists] in the universalization of one
group’s experience and culture and its establishment as the norm; [it] in-
volves the paradox of experiencing oneself as invisible at the same time
that one is marked out and noticed as different. (pp. 191–193); [and]
violence: [A condition in which the] members of some groups live with

the fear [italics added] of random, unprovoked attacks on their persons
or property, which have no motives but to damage, humiliate, or destroy
them. . . . [It] may also take the form of name-calling or petty harass-
ment intended to degrade or humiliate, and always signals an underly-
ing threat of physical attack . . . it is directed at any member of the group
simply because he or she is a member of that group . . . [it] is usually le-
gitimate in the sense that most people regard it as unsurprising, and so
it goes unpunished . . . [it is based upon] irrationality . . . [and it] func-
tions to help keep oppressed groups subordinate. (pp. 193–194)
Now for Young (1992) these faces denote singular and precise types
or kinds of oppression. In other words, exploitation, marginalization,
powerlessness, cultural imperialism, and violence each depicts its own
unique mode or class of oppression whether in the presence or absence
of the others. For as Young notes, oppressed “groups are not [all] op-
pressed to the same degree or in the same ways” (p. 175). Instead, op-
pression “refers to several distinct structures or situations” (p. 175). My
arguments are grounded in the assumptions that (1) each face exists
today in classrooms, schools, and society at large; (2) taken together, the
five faces approximate the oppressive conditions facing many individuals
and groups living in the U.S.; and (3) contemporary programs of citi-
zenship education present both oppressive and anti-oppressive possibili-
ties; that is the potential to challenge and disrupt as well as the potential
to maintain and strengthen.
But, one might ask, are classrooms and schools in fact oppressive?
Is society more broadly oppressive? In order to demonstrate oppression
from within the contexts of Young’s framework one must determine
56 Kevin D. Vinson
that (1) social groups exist; (2) “everyday” conditions work to privilege
some groups over others; and (3) at least one of the five faces charac-
terizes social life. For classrooms, schools, and society, these conditions
indeed apply.
In each case multiple social groups exist. At the societal level, as an
example, one need only consider the cultural politics of identity sur-
rounding such critical markers as race, gender, ethnicity, class, sexuality,
age, interest, ideology, religion, and language. Moreover, to the extent
that these vary and overlap, the number of groups actually multiplies.
What is important here is the degree to which each group contributes to
and affects myriad relations of power situated according to dynamic and
subjective constructions of “Otherness”; that is within complex discursive
communities bounded by statements such as “I am but you are not”
and/or “I belong and you do not.” Such positive and negative, inclusive
and exclusive communities enable a series of oppressive relationships in
which some relatively small yet powerful minority (or, at times, some
hegemonic majority) defines the terms of group membership and the
rules of engagement for (and between) both itself and those it subju-
gates. These conditions appear in the contemporary struggles over issues
such as immigration, welfare reform, labor relations, family values, affir-
mative action, school finance, and (even) citizenship education. Further,
these conditions represent actualizations of Young’s (1992) five face of
oppression in everyday experience.
That is, the quotidian circumstances of contemporary life (e.g., mov-
ing within the economic and political systems), positioned as they are
within relationships of power, contribute to, maintain, strengthen, and
are characterized by exploitation (e.g., the disparity between the wages
of employees and the salaries of upper management), marginalization
(e.g., the overrepresentation of African-American men in prisons versus
their underrepresentation in colleges and universities), powerlessness
(e.g., federal legislation imposed and enforced by a Congress and an ad-
ministration that are almost exclusively male, wealthy, Christian, straight,
and white), cultural imperialism (e.g., the conforming influences of
Christian holidays, the norming/creating of middle-class desires), and vi-
olence (e.g., hate crimes and sexual harassment).
That classrooms and schools mirror the oppressive contingencies of
society should, on one level, be unsurprising since schools (and class-
rooms) are fundamentally social institutions, institutions that have been
explored previously as reproductive of social injustices and inequalities
(e.g., Anyon, 1980; Bowles & Gintis, 1976; Hursh & Ross, 2000). On an-
other level, however, one might expect that given the youthful vulnera-
bility of their charges, schools and policy elites would make some formal
effort to reduce or eliminate the effects and conditions of oppression. As
I perceive things, though, the jury is still out. Either way oppression per-
sists. The social groups that help characterize U.S. society at large also
help characterize classrooms and schools; similar relations exist. Class-
room and school identities are created, in part, according to divisions of
race, gender, class, ethnicity, sexuality, language, and so on. But further-
more, innumerable unique characteristic attributes particular to the com-
plex settings of twenty-first century U.S. schooling, those grounded in, for
example, interests (e.g., computers, chess, culture), service activities (e.g.,
environmental clubs, student government), talents (e.g., sports, music,
drama), and stereotypes (including cliques; e.g., jock, nerd, druggie,
gang-banger, slut), also have at least some bearing. The five faces come
into play vis-à-vis the everyday structural contexts and contingencies of
schooling and classroom life, those affecting students as well as teachers
and permeating the very conditions within which both construct their
subjective identities as educator and educated, included and excluded,
and similar and other.
Exploitation exists, for example, within countless accountability
schemes in which the efforts of teachers and students work to sustain
the dominant positions of external administrators and policy makers.
Test scores provide one relevant illustration. When test scores improve,
educational managers (e.g., district and state administrators, elected
legislators and executives) extol the virtues of their latest reform agen-
das or programs (i.e., “Clearly, our new policies are working.”). When
they decline it is because teachers are “not accountable enough” or be-
cause they are “poorly trained” or because they are not implementing
“best practice.” Either way, such arrangements work to solidify the posi-
tion of administrators and other governmental bureaucrats as experts
and/or educational leaders and teachers and students as clerks, techni-
cians, and/or trainees (if not worse). The recent growth in corporate in-
fluence and the extent to which consumership has replaced citizenship
as a foundation of schooling only exacerbates this oppressive situation
(e.g., Giroux, 1998).
One example of marginalization occurs as states and districts continue
their broad trend toward standardization; that is, toward a mechanism of
curriculum, instruction, and assessment that refuses to take seriously the
notion and conditions of difference. Here, state departments of education
demand conformity to a mandated and singular set of curriculum, in-
struction, and assessment standards imposed on schools that diverge in
terms of economics, cultures, and environments (e.g., Mathison & Ross,
2004; Ross, 1996; Vinson & Ross, 2001, 2003, 2004; see also chapter 5 in
this volume by Mathison, Ross, & Vinson). Schools, teachers, and students
who either do not, cannot, or refuse to conform are rebuked, often puni-
tively in terms of financial arrangements and/or state takeover. In other
58 Kevin D. Vinson
words, those in power pretend that differences among and within schools
and districts do not exist, and then punish schools and districts when dif-
ferences surface. Perhaps a more serious example of marginalization takes
place as schools claim to prepare students for nonexistent jobs; economic
opportunities exit inner cities only to be replaced by prisons and inade-
quate housing. When high school graduates don’t find jobs, it is because
they “didn’t work hard enough” or because “standards were not high
enough,” not because corporations abandoned cities for the suburbs, tak-
ing with them their tax dollars (if they pay at all) and the hope and op-
portunity they could choose to stay and provide (see, e.g., Apple, 1996;
Hursh & Ross, 2000; Vinson & Ross, 2003).
Although powerlessness in schools and classrooms assumes many
forms, two stand out as obvious and historical examples, one mainly per-
taining to students and one to teachers. Traditionally, students have held
little influence over their own learning in terms of curriculum, instruc-
tion, and assessment, and they have carried little weight in terms of ped-
agogical decision making (although some educators have made some
headway here; see, e.g., Angell, 1998; Hursh & Seneway, 1998). Teachers,
whom one might expect to fare better than their students, in reality exist
within a number of similar and powerless circumstances. Educators have
labeled this condition “deprofessionalization” and have used it to de-
scribe (and to criticize) such systemic inclinations as “teacher proofing”
and the contemporary overemphasis on the engineering aspects of
schooling (over, say, the metaphysical; Postman, 1995, p. 3). Although
certainly problematic, such circumstances appear even more dangerous
to the extent that they represent a covert or hidden normalization, a
state of affairs in which teachers are led into a false consciousness de-
fined according to the belief systems of their oppressors. Just listen as
today’s educators unreflexively espouse the “party line” when questioned
about curriculum, instruction, and/or assessment.
Cultural imperialism again refers to those circumstances in which one
group’s perspective becomes dominant or the norm. It makes invisible the
viewpoints and/or situations of “other” groups while simultaneously dis-
tinguishing their members as visibly different and marking them as neces-
sarily inferior. The point is that one culture is privileged so that others
disappear yet stand out. It involves a homogenizing erasure, a denial of dif-
ference, an ironic separateness. In classrooms and schools, this occurs in,
for example, the inclusion of high culture (e.g., classical music) at the ex-
pense of youth or popular culture (e.g., alternative rock and rap music),
and in the exclusion of meaningful debates about history and historical nar-
rative (represented in, for instance, the traditional and heroic story of U.S.
history and the Eurocentrism of world history). In many locations, these
conditions represent the everyday realities of public schooling.
Today, of course, the fear of school violence—the fifth face of oppres-

sion—stems legitimately from such well-publicized events as those carried
out in Pearl, Mississippi; West Paducah, Kentucky; Jonesboro, Arkansas;
Edinboro, Pennsylvania; Springfield, Oregon; and Littleton, Colorado.
Contrary to recent debate, however, whether or not these particular actions
represent everyday occurrences is beside the point. Fear springs from the
realization that such violence can happen anywhere, that simply by virtue of
being inside a school one places oneself—one is—at risk. Further, at least
for many groups and individuals, the frightening possibility—the reality—
of hate crimes poses an additional, oppressive, and potentially deadly, dan-
ger (as the death of Matthew Shepard indicates). Clearly, the issues
surrounding school violence and the fear of school violence are complex
and dynamic; answers are elusive and its causes and effects difficult to de-
cipher (e.g., Hoffman, 1996). Although school violence risks a certain de-
gree of hype (Schiraldi, 1998), suffice it to say that, in many instances, the
threats and fears are real and are of lasting and authentic concern.
Moreover, as Block (1997) argues, contemporary oppressive school
violence represents a unique form of “social violence,” an insidious and
intrepid condition of contemporary schooling and school life that all but
strangles creativity and imagination, enforces hierarchies and discipli-
nary conformities, necessitates a subject-object disconnect, destroys the
freedom to create one’s own identity(ies), and then blames children for
what various invisible others have done to them—especially with respect
to their real anxieties relative to an uncertain (if not nonexistent) future.
One might extend Block’s position to include teachers (and perhaps
parents) as well.
In effect, one might argue that, taken together, each of these five
faces represents some form of violence or another. That conclusion is in-
deed plausible if one accepts the definition of “systemic violence” posited
by Epp and Watkinson (1997):
[It is a]ny institutionalized practice or procedure that adversely impacts

on disadvantaged individuals or groups by burdening them psychologi-
cally, mentally, culturally, spiritually, economically, or physically. It in-
cludes practices and procedures that prevent students from learning,
thus harming them. This may take the form of conventional policies
and practices that foster a climate of violence, or policies and practices
that appear to be neutral but result in discriminatory effects. (p. xi)
What Is “Citizenship Education?”

Certainly, the very idea of “citizenship education” means different things
to different people. Yet throughout the history of social studies education,
60 Kevin D. Vinson
a number of definitions and approaches have emerged as dominant.

These include, for example, the “traditions” framework posited by Barr,
Barth, and Shermis (1977), Newmann’s (1977) identification of “eight
generally distinguishable approaches,” Remy’s (1979) “Basic Citizenship
Competencies,” the “information,” “values,” and “participation” orienta-
tion of Parker and Jarolimek (1984), the “socialization-countersocializa-
tion” model offered by Engle and Ochoa (1988), and the more recent
“social studies for civic competence” perspective provided by Saxe (1997).
For the purposes of this chapter, though, I follow Ross (2000, 2004,
and chapter 1 in this volume) and accept that citizenship education rep-
resents the historically dominant justification of social studies and that it
includes knowledge or information, skills, values, and sociopolitico-eco-
nomic participation. But second, I take citizenship education here to in-
clude any formally proposed or enacted program sanctioned by some
recognized governmental or professional organization aimed toward the
expressed purpose of “good,” “effective,” or “democratic” citizenship (how-
ever officially defined). I limit my discussion to high school social studies
and the conditions of formal schooling.
The Five Faces and Citizenship Education:

Three Case Studies
In this section, I analyze three distinguished approaches to citizenship
education according to Young’s (1992) five faces framework. More
specifically, I interrogate Expectations of Excellence (National Council for
the Social Studies Curriculum Standards Task Force [hereafter, NCSS
Task Force], 1994), CIVITAS (Center for Civic Education [hereafter,
CCE], 1991), and National Standards for Civics and Government (CCE,
1995) in terms of: (1) how each treats the notion of citizenship educa-
tion; (2) how each addresses exploitation, marginalization, powerless-
ness, cultural imperialism, and violence; and (3) how each exemplifies
various and unique oppressive and anti-oppressive possibilities. Note that
these programs were chosen based on: (1) their intended national audi-
ence, (2) their currency, and (3) their “official” (i.e., NCSS and CCE en-
dorsed) legitimacy.
Expectations of Excellence
Expectations of Excellence (NCSS Task Force, 1994) maintains the NCSS’s
traditional view of citizenship as the primary and defining purpose of so-
cial studies education. Moreover, it promotes a conception of citizenship
as “civic competence—which is the knowledge, skills, and attitudes re-
quired of students to be able to assume ‘the office of citizen’ . . .” (p. 3).
Civic competence, further, is that which culminates (or should culmi-

nate) in the ability among “students [to] become able to connect knowl-
edge, skills, and values to civic action as they engage in social inquiry”
(p. 7). From this perspective, citizenship as civic competence, civic action
involves understanding “persistent issues” and working through them to
effect some level of meaningful “civic improvement” (p. 10). For as the
NCSS Task Force concludes, “Individual and group action designed to
support both individual dignity and the common good bring our na-
tion’s ideals and practices closer together. . . . [as it] supports and ex-
tends civic ideals and practices in a democratic republic” (p. 10).
Following Expectations of Excellence, then, citizenship education means
simply civic competence for civic action for civic improvement.
CIVITAS
The primary goal of CIVITAS: A Framework for Civic Education [bold in
the original] is to suggest guidelines for the development or enhance-
ment of civic education instructional programs in public and private
elementary and secondary schools in order to promote civic compe-
tence, civic responsibility, and the widespread participation of youth in
the social and political life of their communities and the nation. (CCE,
1991, p. 1)
CIVITAS pursues an approach to citizenship (in the words of the CCE

“civic”) education based on the development within students of “civic com-
petence” and “civic responsibility.” These are necessary vis-à-vis schooling
to the extent that good citizenship is not something human beings are
born with nor is it something we learn “informally” (p. 4). By civic compe-
tence the CCE (1991) means “the capacity to participate effectively in the
American political as well as social systems” (p. 1). Civic responsibility
refers to “the commitment to fulfilling the obligations of citizenship”
(p. 1). Both goals involve or require a commitment to “civic virtue,” “civic
participation,” and “civic knowledge and intellectual skills” (p. 1), each
with its own more specific and precise set of subgoals. The goal of civic
virtue is “To foster among citizens civic dispositions [emphasis in original]
and commitments to fundamental values and principles required for com-
petent and responsible citizenship” (p. 1). It includes, for example, such
characteristics as “Civility,” “Individual responsibility,” “Toleration of di-
versity,” and “Loyalty to the nation and its principles” (pp. 13–14). Civic
commitments involve a dedication to “Fundamental principles of Ameri-
can constitutional democracy” (e.g., “Separation of powers,” “Checks and
balances,” and “Federalism”) and “Fundamental values of American con-
stitutional democracy” (e.g., “The public or common good,” “Individual
rights,” “Justice,” “Equality,” and “Patriotism”) (pp. 14–16).
62 Kevin D. Vinson
The goal of civic participation is “To develop among citizens the

participatory skills [emphasis in original] required to monitor and in-
fluence the formulation, implementation, adjudication, and enforce-
ment of public policy, as well as to participate in voluntary efforts to
solve neighborhood and community problems” (p. 1). Such participa-
tory skills include “Governing and managing groups,” “monitoring
public policy,” and “influencing public policy,” each requiring a subset
of skills related to “Deciding to act,” “Planning to affect public policy”
(e.g., “Information gathering” and “Identifying the actors”), and “Car-
rying out a plan of action” (e.g., “Communicating” and “Gaining Sup-
port”) (pp. 43–44).
The goal of civic knowledge and intellectual skills, by far the longest
segment of CIVITAS is “To provide citizens the knowledge and intellectual
skills [emphasis in original] required to monitor and influence the for-
mulation, implementation, adjudication, and enforcement of public pol-
icy, as well as to participate in voluntary efforts to solve neighborhood
and community problems” (p. 1). These skills center on “the nature of
politics and government” (e.g., political authority, the nature of the
state, types of governments, politics and government, and law and the
government), “politics and government in the United States” (e.g., fun-
damental values and principles and political institutions and processes),
and “the role of the citizen” (pp. 91–92). With respect to the role of the
citizen, CIVITAS emphasizes “responsibilities” (e.g., “a devotion to civic
virtue”) (p. 611), “rights” (e.g., “personal rights” and “human rights”)
(pp. 611–627), and forms of participation (e.g., formal means such as
jury duty and informal means such as speaking at public meetings).
National Standards for Civics and Government

In terms of citizenship, the National Standards for Civics and Government
(again, focusing on grades 9–12), also produced by the CCE (1994), ex-
plicitly seek to address five questions: (1) What is citizenship? (2) What are
the rights of citizens? (3) What are the responsibilities of citizens? (4) What
civic dispositions or traits of private and public character are important
to the preservation and improvement of American constitutional democ-
racy? and (5) How can citizens take part in civic life? (see, especially,
pp. 127–137). From this perspective, citizenship
• is legally recognized membership in a self-governing community

• confers full membership in a self-governing community; no de-
grees of citizenship or legally recognized states of inferior citizen-
ship are tolerated
• confers equal rights under the law

• is not dependent on inherited, involuntary groupings such as
race, ethnicity, or ancestral religion [and]
• confers certain rights and privileges, e.g., the right to vote, to hold
public office, to serve on juries. (p. 127)
Further, the rights of citizens include “personal rights” (e.g., “freedom of

thought and conscience” and “privacy and personal autonomy”) (p. 128),
“political rights” (e.g., “freedom of speech, press, assembly, [and] peti-
tion”) (p. 129), and “economic rights” (e.g., “the right to acquire, use,
transfer, and dispose of property”) (p. 129). The responsibilities of citizens
are “personal” (e.g., “taking care of one’s self” and “accepting responsibil-
ity for the consequences of one’s actions”) as well as “civic” (e.g., “obeying
the law,” “being informed and attentive to public issues,” and “performing
public service”) (p. 132). Civic dispositions are those that (1) “lead the citi-
zen to be an independent member of society”; (2) “foster respect for indi-
vidual worth and human dignity”; (3) “incline the citizen to public affairs”;
and (4) “facilitate thoughtful and effective participation in public affairs”
(e.g., “civility,” “respect for law,” “open mindedness,” “patriotism,” and
“tolerance of ambiguity”) (pp. 133–134). Lastly, participation in civic life
includes “social action” (e.g., “forming a neighborhood watch”) and
“political action” (e.g., “meeting with officials”) (pp. 134–135).
In both CIVITAS and National Standards for Civics and Government the
approach of the CCE is one centered on the acquisition and demonstra-
tion of certain values, attitudes, skills, and knowledge aimed toward ful-
filling the responsibilities and exercising the rights of American citizens,
all culminating in some propensity toward authentic and meaningful
civic action or participation. As such, the work of the CCE differs little
from that of the NCSS and its focus on civic competence for civic action
for civic improvement.
Oppressive and Anti-Oppressive Possibilities

With respect to the five faces of oppression, each of the case study pro-
grams includes both oppressive and anti-oppressive possibilities. By op-
pressive possibilities I mean either of three situations: (1) insufficient or
inadequate coverage; (2) zero coverage; or (3) complicity. By anti-op-
pressive possibilities I mean a state of affairs in which the respective pro-
grams hint at or imply at least some counternarrative; that is, an
orientation (whether overt or covert) toward a citizenship education that
seeks to challenge, disrupt, and/or counteract the multiple conditions
and realities of oppression.
64 Kevin D. Vinson
Expectations of Excellence presents rather an oppressive by omission state

of affairs. Although it includes a number of relevant themes, questions,
goals, and performance expectations, none explicitly recognizes the exis-
tence and impact of exploitation, marginalization, powerlessness, cultural
imperialism, or violence as characteristics of contemporary society. Within
such organizing themes as Culture, Individuals, Groups, and Institutions,
Power, Authority, and Governance, and Production, Distribution, and
Consumption—themes of particular importance regarding the five
faces—the NCSS Task Force (1994) chooses to emphasize concepts such
as the common good, diversity and cohesion, change, and understanding
over the various elements and factors of oppression. In and of themselves,
of course, these factors are not unreasonable concepts or points of con-
cern. What Expectations lacks, however, is any clear interest in the circum-
stances of oppression, the contexts of their creation, their effects on
people’s lives, and the means by which they might be overthrown. The
Task Force (1994) privileges instead the somewhat conventional content
of the traditional social science disciplines. It ignores that the common
good, for example, might be more good for some than for others. Diversity
and cohesion might develop within and maintain an overall setting of hi-
erarchical, asymmetric, and unjust relations of power. Change might work
to benefit dominant groups at the expense of subordinate groups. Under-
standing might not lead to meaningful social action. Improving the com-
mon good may still disproportionately hurt some individuals and groups;
valuing diversity and cohesion may still result in oppression; change may
still strengthen oppression by solidifying the position of the powerful; and
understanding may still encourage a rational and rationalized contingency
of inequality, injustice, and disenfranchisement.
On the other hand, Expectations of Excellence offers several hopeful in-
dications of an as yet nascent or incipient anti-oppressive alternative.
“Thematic Strand Ten,” “The Civic Ideal,” for example, calls for the
study of “the ideals, principles, and practices of citizenship in a democratic re-
public . . .” (NCSS Task Force, 1994, p. 139). Further, it encourages stu-
dents to engage in a discussion of such fundamental concepts as “human
dignity, liberty, justice, equality, and the rule of law . . .” (p. 139). It en-
dorses the notion that citizens can make a difference, and that a multi-
plicity of voices must be heard (although it does not address the fact that
this often is not the case in reality) regarding the resolution of various so-
cial, economic, and political issues. The critical questions concern the
extent to which the remainder of the document reinforces and expands
on this vision and the extent to which these anti-oppressive alternatives
do or do not outweigh their very real oppressive counterparts.
Like Expectations of Excellence, CIVITAS neglects any direct mention of
oppression or of Young’s (1992) five faces. But worse, it fails to provide
any serious treatment of such fundamental concepts as power (except “of

the purse”) and culture. Here the CCE (1991) overlooks the potential sig-
nificance of oppression and of exploitation, marginalization, powerless-
ness, cultural imperialism, and violence; that is, especially in terms of
their existence, causes and effects, and uses (i.e., how they benefit some
people at the expense of others, and thus why it is in the perceived in-
terests of some that they be maintained). CIVITAS addresses the ideal but
not the reality, and disregards the conditions facing many Americans
even as it promotes the pursuit of various civic goals. Although it does en-
gage a number of important and related concepts, for example justice
and equality, it does so only in a formalistic, legalistic, procedural, and
purely descriptive manner.
Consider, for instance, the CCE’s (1991) treatment of justice. Ac-
cording to CIVITAS, “People should be treated fairly in the distribution
of the benefits and burdens of society, correction of wrongs and injuries,
and gathering of information and making decisions” (p. 16). CIVITAS
calls justice “another basic value of the American system” and argues that
it “is embodied in the Declaration of Independence and the Constitu-
tion” (p. 375). Further, “Justice, as used here, is essentially synonymous
with the idea of fairness” (p. 375). CIVITAS goes on then to define three
generally recognized types: “distributive justice,” “corrective justice,” and
“procedural justice” (p. 375). Clearly, this is all good. What is missing,
though, is any notion that injustice exists, and that it works in favor of
powerful people. CIVITAS overlooks the possibility that there may be
many equally valid justices or fairnesses, that these are difficult to stan-
dardize or even define, and that by pursuing them in a particular direc-
tion we may simultaneously be maintaining certain dangerous forms of
oppression as well as various circumstances of injustice and inequality. In
other words, CIVITAS does not indicate why or even that injustices occur.
It ignores their roots in disagreements over, and divergent interpreta-
tions of, many of the democratic ideals it explicitly supports. Justice exists
as certain “agreed upon standards” (p. 375), the construction of which
may or not itself be just.
CIVITAS does, however, hint at and imply a certain, albeit underde-
veloped, anti-oppressive orientation. Although its treatment of oppres-
sion is lacking, and its exploration of related concepts incomplete,
CIVITAS does provide a relatively extensive treatment of concepts such as
freedom and equality. Further, it pursues the potential virtues of forms
of participation such as “civil disobedience” (pp. 629–637). Yet, in its in-
herent incompleteness regarding the conditions and faces of oppression
CIVITAS risks a citizenship education that leaves students with a less than
meaningful, a less than authentic, understanding of reality and of con-
temporary society.
66 Kevin D. Vinson
National Standards for Civics and Government presents somewhat the

same set of problematics as do both Expectations of Excellence and CIVI-
TAS—mostly those of omission and inadequate coverage. The National
Standards for Civics and Government neglects oppression per se, disregard-
ing its existence as well as its underlying conditions, origins, utility, and
benefits with respect to the powerful.
The CCE (1994) does, however, address specifically two elements
central to Young’s (1992) framework—powerlessness and violence. In
terms of powerlessness, the Standards devotes at least some space to the
dangers of governmental “abuse[s] of power” (p. 110) and how citizens
might work constitutionally to limit them. The implication is that a de-
mocracy must work in ways that “balance” power between the government
and the people (to the extent that they are not the same), so that the gov-
ernment avoids becoming too powerful and the citizenry too powerless.
(Less formal and less official abuses of power are only infrequently men-
tioned.) With respect to violence, the CCE notes only (and obviously)
that it may result—and has, at times, resulted—from an other than peace-
ful resolution to social and political conflicts. Further, in its budding anti-
oppressive manner, it takes at least moderately seriously the notion of
diversity, for instance in terms of class, gender, race, and religion, and
contemplates its meaning relative to several civic and democratic ideals.1
Overall, Expectations of Excellence, CIVITAS, and National Standards for
Civics and Government each demonstrates its own unique set of good in-
tentions and a well-placed dedication to the goals of citizenship, justice,
equality, freedom, diversity, and democracy. Still, taken together, these
programs suggest a number of difficulties related to oppression and
Young’s (1992) several categories. All three programs ignore the exis-
tence and roots of oppression as well as its utility for some and its differ-
entially created and actualized meanings. Further, though these
programs support some degree of civic participation, they do so only
generally, vaguely, not noticing that the ends to which such involvement
are or might be aimed are undeniably different, that agreed-upon goals
might imply differentially produced and interpreted yet equally valid un-
derstandings. Each does, however, provide some limited indication of an
anti-oppressive alternative or alternatives.
More importantly, though, these programs present a range of both
pedagogical and societal risks with respect to their consideration of op-
pression and its faces. For example, by downplaying the roots, the particu-
lars, and the applications of oppression each program engenders a
citizenship education in which students develop an indifferent if not
nonexistent understanding of the disconnect between the ideal and the
real. Is, for example, the United States a country characterized by “liberty
and justice for all,” or is it not? Is the United States a “free society,” or is it
not? In the United States, are citizens “equal under the law,” or are they
not? Is the United States a “democracy,” or is it not? What do these ques-
tions mean? What are their answers? What are the ideals, and what are the
realities? For whom? Following the three case studies, it is not unreasonable
to question the degree to which students would or would not be confused.
Second, by not directly and actively challenging the circumstances
and elements of oppression and Young’s (1992) five faces, the three ap-
proaches risk a certain complicity, an unintentional working toward the
preservation and maintenance of various oppressive conditions—in both
schools and society. Whether and to what extent these risks exist in prac-
tice, of course, can be determined only by way of a rigorous empirical
and theoretical research agenda, one noticeably absent within the con-
temporary social studies.
Alternatives: Freire, Democracy, and Cultural Studies

Assuming a democratic preference for a citizenship education that is
anti-oppressive, one that challenges and seeks to disrupt the contingen-
cies of exploitation, marginalization, powerlessness, cultural imperialism,
and violence, one can construct a set of conditions within which less po-
tentially oppressive alternatives to the approaches explored in this paper
might be identified and established. In meeting such conditions citizen-
ship education moves away from the possibility of oppression and toward
the possibility of anti-oppression. With this in mind, in this section I ex-
plore the implications of a number of contemporary pedagogical devel-
opments in light of at least some of the elements of an anti-oppressive
citizenship education.
At minimum, an anti-oppressive citizenship education must fulfill
the following:
1. It must build upon the anti-oppressive possibilities of existing

programs;
2. It must be multidisciplinary (if not a- or even antidisciplinary),
for even a cursory glance at existing proposals indicates that citi-
zenship education involves more than just civics, history, govern-
ment, and the modern social sciences;
3. It must emphasize both citizenship knowledge (i.e., informa-
tion, skills, values) and citizenship action. For unreflective prac-
tice does not make one a good citizen anymore than does formal
knowledge absent purposeful experiences. Educators must bear
in mind that those whom we call “good” or “effective” citizens
warrant such recognition not because of what they know per se,
but because of what they do. This includes, however, more than
68 Kevin D. Vinson
the traditional notions of responsibilities and sociopolitical in-

volvement or engagement. It includes as well various endeavors
in the arts, scholarship, athletics, service, journalism, teaching,
and science (etc.); and
4. Its orientation must be divergent and not convergent, open and
not closed, emancipatory and not conforming—in a word,
democratic. For citizenship is fundamentally contingent and
contextual, dynamic, fluid, and evolving. It is characteristically
unstable and thus impossible to standardize.
Given these factors and the necessity of taking Young’s (1992) five
faces seriously, I believe that the roots of a potentially anti-oppressive set
of alternatives exist in the contemporary work of Freirean and neo-
Freirean (e.g., Greene and hooks) pedagogy, “democratic education”
(e.g., Apple and his colleagues), and cultural studies (e.g., Giroux).
These diverse programs provide for the indicated conditions as well as
for the circumstances manifested by Young.
Freire’s (1970) Pedagogy of the Oppressed posits a revolutionary alterna-
tive to the “pedagogy of domination” inherent within the disconnecting
characteristics of traditional formal schooling (what Freire famously
called “banking education”). His approach builds on what he termed a
“problem-posing” education, a view that for teachers and students strives
toward a critical consciousness grounded in a humane and liberating dia-
logue. Its goal is a pedagogy of freedom, one through which various op-
pressive conditions can be understood and overthrown via the intellectual
and practical aspects of the praxis. For Freire, problem-posing education
works to “create . . . the conditions under which knowledge at the level of
the doxa is superseded by true knowledge, at the level of the logos” (p. 62).
It “involves a constant unveiling of reality . . . [and] strives for the emergence
of consciousness and critical intervention in reality” (p. 62). Freirean peda-
gogy “has two distinct stages” (p. 36).
In the first, the oppressed unveil the world of oppression and through
the praxis commit themselves to its transformation. In the second stage,
in which the reality of oppression has already been transformed, this
pedagogy ceases to belong to the oppressed and becomes a pedagogy of
all people in the process of permanent liberation. In both stages, it is al-
ways through action in depth that the culture of domination is cultur-
ally confronted. (Freire, 1970, p. 36)
It involves, according to Maxine Greene (1978), “the need for edu-

cators to work with their students for the kinds of synthesis and aware-
nesses [i.e., a “wide-awakeness”] that open the way, the praxis, as those
students explore their common condition and work to transform what is
given to them as inexorable” (p. 109). This is similar to what bell hooks
(1994; see also Florence, 1998) has called “engaged pedagogy,” a situa-
tion in which teachers’ “work is not merely to share information but to
share in the intellectual and spiritual growth of [their] students” (p. 13).
It opposes an “assembly-line approach to learning” (p. 13) and instead
seeks an “education [where] . . . everyone [italics added] claims knowl-
edge as a field in which we all labor” (p. 14). It includes “action and re-
flection upon the world in order to change it” (p. 14).
As a second possibility, the recently revived notion of “democratic
schools” provides further insight into the creation of an anti-oppressive
alternative. According to Beane and Apple (1995; see also Carlson &
Apple, 1998), democratic schools are those intentionally structured ac-
cording to the principles of democratic life. These include:
1. The open flow of ideas, regardless of their popularity, that en-

ables people to be as fully informed as possible.
2. Faith in the individual and collective capacity of people to create
possibilities for resolving problems.
3. The use of critical reflection and analysis to evaluate ideas, prob-
lems, and policies.
4. Concern for the welfare of others and [italics added] “the com-
mon good.”
5. Concern for the dignity and rights of individuals and minorities.
6. An understanding that democracy is not so much an “ideal” to be
pursued as an “idealized” set of values that we must live and that
must guide our life as a people.
7. The organization of social institutions to promote and extend
the democratic way of life. (Beane & Apple, 1995, pp. 6–7)
Further, democratic schools rest on “democratic structures and

processes” so “that all of those directly involved in the school, including
young people, have the right to participate in the process of decision
making” (p. 9). They are characterized by a “democratic curriculum”
that “emphasizes access to a wide range of information and the right of
those of varied opinion to have their viewpoints heard” (p. 13).
Recent work in education and “cultural studies” presents a third alter-
native to more established, yet potentially more oppressive, approaches.
According to Giroux (1997), “Cultural studies is largely concerned with
the relationship among culture, knowledge, and power” (p. 232). It “re-
jects the notion of pedagogy as a technique or set of neutral skills and ar-
gues that pedagogy is a cultural practice that can be understood only
through considerations of history, politics, power, and culture” (p. 233). It
assumes “that the traditional distinctions that separate and frame
70 Kevin D. Vinson
established academic disciplines cannot account for the great diversity of

cultural and social phenomena that has come to characterize an increas-
ingly hybridized, postindustrial world” (p. 235). Perhaps most importantly,
Advocates of cultural studies have argued strongly that the role of

media culture—including the power of the mass media, with its mas-
sive apparatuses of representation and its mediation of knowledge—is
central to understanding how the dynamics of power, privilege, and so-
cial desire structure the daily life of a society. . . . By analyzing the full
range of assorted and densely layered sites of learning such as the
media, popular culture, film, advertising, mass communications, and
religious organizations, among others, cultural studies expands our
understanding of the pedagogical and its role outside of school as the
traditional site of learning. (p. 235)
For Giroux, the project here is one of “radical democracy,” a politically

engaged pedagogy (and a pedagogically engaged politics) of decenter-
ing characterized by a shared language of possibility, a pluralization of
contexts, and a dynamically interactive and fluid construction of histori-
cal, contingent, and culturally produced identities—all of which make
possible the implementation of newly produced and legitimized chal-
lenges to everyday forms of discrimination, injustice, and oppression.
But what do these three perspectives provide with respect to the
above stipulations and to oppression—to exploitation, marginalization,
powerlessness, cultural imperialism, and violence? First, they provide a
starting point and the beginnings at least of a direction consistent with
the anti-oppressive possibilities exhibited in programs such as Expecta-
tions of Excellence, CIVITAS, and the National Standards for Civics and Gov-
ernment. Freire, Apple, Giroux, and their colleagues present a complex
series of pathways and foundations, a visionary set of ideas and under-
standings, and a civic imaginary, all of which work to engage a citizenship
education committed to a realized set of democratic and critical ideals
(e.g., justice, freedom, and equality). Moreover, they recognize that con-
temporary circumstances necessitate a citizenship education that is mul-
tidisciplinary (or, in Giroux’s words, “post-disciplinary”), one that
includes a range of information—knowledge, skills, and values—drawn
from a variety of traditional and nontraditional sources. They emphasize
both knowledge and action—a hybridized praxis—and the importance of
social transformation (à la civic improvement). Each accentuates an in-
clusive pluralism, a multiplicity of voices and viewpoints, and a commit-
ment to cultural and political decentering.
Second, these critical perspectives strike squarely at the existence
and contexts of oppression and its differentially produced five faces.
They challenge dominance and the legitimacy of hierarchical relations
of power, the heart of each of the faces. Taken together they seek to
eliminate the acceptability of exploitation, marginalization, powerless-
ness, cultural imperialism, and violence as they presently exist even
within a system ostensibly dedicated to justice and equality. They seek to
expand the spheres of engagement, and to decenter the geographies of
economics, power, identity, culture, and behavior such that no group is
inherently or contextually dominant and able to use its status to manip-
ulate others for its own benefits. Fundamentally democratic in orienta-
tion, these viewpoints privilege not asymmetrical social relationships, but
radically widespread practices of meaningful and just democracy—not
conformity, but freedom, liberation, individuality, and justice—and the
creation of an antihegemonic social existence.
Summary and Conclusions

The nature of citizenship and the meanings of citizenship education are
complex indeed, as are their multiple implications for contemporary
schooling—perhaps no more so than for contemporary social studies ed-
ucation. Nevertheless, the issues they present are critical and inexorably
linked to the present and future status of both American public school-
ing and the maintenance, strengthening, and expansion of American de-
mocracy; they must be addressed. And as Ross (chapter 1 in this volume)
contends, rethinking citizenship education must occur within the funda-
mental yet increasingly controversial debate surrounding the meaning of
the social studies curriculum—its origins, purposes, and levels and loci of
control, as well as its contested and unsettled place for the professional
roles of teachers.
Although some recent scholarship has downplayed the concept of
oppression and its importance, circumstances demand that it be taken
seriously and that its conditions be understood and challenged. Al-
though Young’s (1992) “five faces of oppression” framework provides
but one meaningful and potentially disrupting approach, it does offers at
least a means by which to interrogate various interpretations of citizen-
ship and citizenship education as well as a mechanism by which to un-
cover both their oppressive and anti-oppressive possibilities.
Undoubtedly, the best of intentions undergird such exemplar citi-
zenship education programs as Expectations of Excellence, CIVITAS, and Na-
tional Standards for Civics and Government. And yet, too often their
oppressive possibilities overwhelm and subsume their potential for anti-
oppression and anti-oppressive education, especially as states, the na-
tional government, and professional education associations continue
their drive to standardize, to impose a singular theory and practice of cur-
riculum, instruction, and assessment. As I have argued, contemporary
72 Kevin D. Vinson
conditions demand an anti-oppressive citizenship education, one that

takes seriously the five faces of oppression and builds upon the anti-op-
pressive possibilities of established and officially sanctioned approaches.
Some new and potentially exciting directions and alternatives exist, how-
ever, within the recent scholarship surrounding Freirean and neo-
Freirean pedagogy, democratic education, and cultural studies.
To conclude, social studies educators must pursue, as some already do,
an agenda dedicated to the creation of a citizenship education that strug-
gles against and disrupts oppression. (This, in my view, characterizes the ef-
forts included in Parts II and III of this volume.) What is perhaps most
needed is a line of empirical (quantitative and qualitative) inquiry aimed at
establishing the extent to which the anti-oppressive and oppressive possi-
bilities discussed in this chapter exist in practice as well as the extent to
which they affect the processes via which teachers and students construct
their own understandings of what it means to be an U. S. citizen. Classroom
practice must work toward a citizenship education committed to explor-
ing—even influencing—the contingencies of understanding and action
and the possibilities of eradicating as features of U.S. society exploitation,
marginalization, powerlessness, cultural imperialism, and violence—vis-à-vis
both schools and society. For in the words of the late Paulo Freire (1998):
Yes, citizenship—above all in a society like ours, of such authoritarian

and racially, sexually, and class-based discriminatory traditions—is re-
ally an invention, a political production. In this sense, one who suffers
any [or all] of the discriminations . . . does not enjoy the full exercise
of citizenship as a peaceful and recognized right. On the contrary, it is
a right to be reached and whose conquest makes democracy grow sub-
stantively. Citizenship implies freedom. . . . Citizenship is not obtained
by chance: It is a construction that, never finished, demands we fight for
it. It demands commitment, political clarity, coherence, decision. For
this reason a democratic education cannot be realized apart from an
education of and for citizenship. (p. 90)
Freire, like Dewey, teaches and reminds us that citizenship education

is essential to democratic education, and that democratic education is es-
sential to a democratic society. Students must know that birth, nationality,
documents, and platitudes are not enough. They must understand that the
promises of citizenship, the fulfillment of its virtues, are unfinished, and
that they remain an ongoing, dynamic struggle. And they must come to act
in a variety of unique and ethical ways, for the expansion and realization of
democracy, the root of contemporary notions of citizenship, is in their
hands, and it demands of them no less than the ultimate in democratic
and anti-oppressive human reflection and human activity. The pedagogi-
cal meaning of Young’s (1992) framework resides in its capacity to lead or

encourage social studies educators to challenge the implications of their
own instruction, to envision an education that is democratic to the core,
and to interrogate and uncover their own well-intentioned complicity in
the conditions within which various cultural texts and practices appear, es-
pecially to the extent that oppressive conditions create oppressive cultural
practices, and vice versa.2
Notes
1. Readers are left here to ponder the potential absurdity—the oxymoron—
of diversity standards or standardized diversity.
2. I wish to thank E. Wayne Ross, Perry Marker, Paula M. Vinson, and Jill
Cohen for their kind and supportive critiques.
References
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Apple, M. W. (1996). Cultural politics and education. New York: Teachers College
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Barr, R. D., Barth, J. L., & Shermis, S. S. (1977). Defining the social studies. Arling-
ton, VA: National Council for the Social Studies.
Beane, J. A., & Apple, M. W. (1995). The case for democratic schools. In
J. A. Beane & M. W. Apple (Eds.), Democratic schools (pp. 1–25). Alexan-
dria, VA: Association for Supervision and Curriculum Development.
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CO: Westview Press.
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Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Continuum.
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Freire, P. (1998). Teachers as cultural workers: Letters to those who dare teach
(D. Macedo, D. Koike, & A. Oliveira, Trans.). Boulder, CO: Westview Press.
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ters (Ed.), Education and the postmodern condition (pp. 87–120). Westport, CT:
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(Ed.), Building rationales for citizenship education (pp. 1–33). Arlington, VA:
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CHAPTER 4
THE FUTURE IS NOW
SOCIAL STUDIES IN THE WORLD OF 2056
Perry M. Marker
In the brief span of fifteen years, the Internet, instant messaging, iPods,
Web sites, and e-mail, have dramatically changed the way we, and espe-
cially our children, communicate. Music and movie downloading, chat
rooms, video games, and cell phones have become a part of everyday life.
In 2004, Merriam–Webster, the dictionary, designated “blog” (a shared
online journal where people can post diary entries about their personal
experiences, political ideas, and hobbies) as its word of the year, based
on the number of people who looked up a definition online.
Yet amid this blizzard of change, the contemporary social studies cur-
riculum is mired in early-twentieth-century history-centered thinking, and
out of touch with the needs and interests of the current generation of stu-
dents who will be the leaders of tomorrow. As we begin the new millen-
nium, it seems as though we are proceeding rather haphazardly, without
a great deal of thought and discussion, toward an uncertain, uninspired,
and unimaginative future for the social studies curriculum.
Currently, there is intense pressure to reform social studies education
to address the changing social, political, economic, and technological de-
mands of contemporary society. However, social studies educators are in
danger of reproducing the curriculum of a hundred years ago; adopting
and accepting an unyielding history-based and corporate-influenced cur-
riculum that renders us resistant to change in an information age. Two of
the more visible efforts at reform, sponsored by the Thomas B. Fordham
Foundation, are Where Did Social Studies Go Wrong? (Leming, Ellington, &
Porter, 2003) and Terrorists, Despots, and Democracy: What Our Children Need
to Know (Fordham Foundation, 2003). These publications have sparked
77
78 Perry M. Marker
an aggressive and vigorous debate regarding the nature of social studies

education. President George W. Bush has recently made statements that
indicate he wishes to chart a course for social studies that focuses on a cur-
riculum emphasizing “patriotism” and the “facts” America’s children
need to know about their country and government. In response to the
Fordham Foundation’s perspective, Ross and Marker (2005) argue that
rather than a singular or narrow perspective on teaching social studies, a
pluralism of views on the nature and purposes of social studies education
is beneficial. We need to embrace deliberation as the core idea of creat-
ing, maintaining, and teaching for democracy.
Reform efforts, as are often the case, have brought to the fore the pri-
mary tensions in the field of social studies: (1) the relative emphasis on
the cultural heritage of the dominant society versus the development of
critical thought; and (2) conflicting conceptions of citizenship, that is cit-
izenship for social reproduction or social reconstruction. Social studies
educators’ differences can be described along a continuum with polar
purposes of “indoctrination” and “critical thought” (Ross & Marker,
2005). This debate and its incumbent tensions indicates the need for so-
cial studies educators to begin a serious conversation that can help the
field chart a deliberative, divergent, and flexible course for its curriculum.
As this conversation unfolds, social studies educators need to consider the
future as we debate and discuss the social studies curriculum. This chap-
ter focuses on designing a social studies curriculum to meet the needs of
students in the twenty-first century. A question that everyone should agree
is crucial is: what kind of citizens do we want fifty years from now, in the
year 2056, and beyond? For social studies educators, the future is now.
Living in the Past

There is general agreement among social studies educators that the 1916
report of the National Education Association Committee on Social Stud-
ies1 had a profound impact on the social studies curriculum. It was this
group of educators, heavily influenced by the emergence of the indus-
trial state, that produced the scope and sequence of courses that has de-
fined the contemporary social studies curriculum. In our twenty-first
century society, the 1916 report remains as the predominate pattern for
organizing the social studies curriculum (Evans, 2004).
This social studies curriculum was designed for a unique time and ex-
traordinary society that was immersed in an ethic influenced by a bur-
geoning industrial age. The social studies curriculum was created at a time
when education was emerging from a century of rural, one-room schools,
to a modern, public system of education that supported a rising and pow-
erful industrial-based economy. Businessmen, who were the societal lead-
The Future is Now 79
ers in an escalating industrial era, heavily influenced the development of

public education. The spread of public education in an age of industrial-
ization was enabling a whole generation of workers to become the literate,
participating citizens in the labor force of the emerging industrial era
(Marker, 2004).
At the beginning of the twentieth century, schooling was essential
because it adapted citizens to the developments and enticements of the
budding urban industrial order. David Tyack (1974), in his seminal his-
tory of American public education The One Best System, has documented
the twentieth-century vision of schooling as a means of transforming the
preindustrial society into an industrial, technology-driven culture.
Schools were seen as crucial in addressing the values and work habits of
citizens in a “modernizing society” (p. 29). As the population was grow-
ing and shifting to urban areas, massive changes in lifestyles were taking
place that would change the structure of schooling and the nature of the
social studies curriculum for the remainder of the twentieth century.
Throughout the twentieth century and continuing today, the predom-
inate focus of the content in social studies curriculum included historical
facts arranged in chronological order, incorporating lists of dates, names,
and significant events related to political, diplomatic, and military history.
Students are drilled to learn historical information through memoriza-
tion—the goal being to provide students with the historical “facts” necessary
to function as an effective citizen. Historians argue that their discipline is
the great repository of classical ideas and the ideals of humankind, and this
knowledge is deemed to be essential for citizens to learn if they are to be-
come effective and knowledgeable in our contemporary society. Historians
believe that learning the factual knowledge of history “disciplines” the mind
(Barr, Barth, & Shermis, 1977, p. 20). Michael Whelan (2001; and chapter
2 in this volume) cogently makes the case for the continuation of a history-
centered curriculum. He states that “history’s claim to a central unifying
place in social studies education . . . arises from the profound understand-
ing that the nature of human existence is essentially historical” (pp. 54–55).
Significant elements of this early-twentieth-century, history-centered
organization of the secondary social studies curriculum can be found at
the beginning of the twenty-first century. States such as California,
Alabama, Virginia, Texas, and Massachusetts have created history-centered
state curriculum standards (Ravitch, 2003). The curricula endorsed by
these states have, as their primary focus, historical content that is driven by
fact-based, yearlong, chronological, survey courses that study military, po-
litical, and diplomatic history. However, the fundamental problem is that
these history-centered twenty-first-century curricula still retain as their pri-
mary curricular pattern educational thinking that is more than one hun-
dred years old (Evans, 2004; Marker, 2004; Nelson, 1990).
80 Perry M. Marker
As the third millennium begins, technology is transforming how we

live and work. Communication, computers, the Internet, and myriad
forms of media are placing immense pressures on our students, schools,
and the curriculum. In a general sense, we are at a point in our develop-
ment that is very similar to the kind of change that transformed an agrar-
ian society into a booming, industrial civilization. One hundred years
later, we are moving away from the industrial age to an information soci-
ety. The history-centered social studies curriculum, created in 1916 for a
factory model of teaching and learning, is no longer adequate to address
the challenges of our twenty-first century society. It is not an oversimpli-
fication to say that history, by itself and for its own sake, is not enough to
make good citizens of our students (Sunburst, 2004). As did our social
studies colleagues from the early twentieth century, who created a cur-
riculum that has spanned the twentieth century, we also need to begin to
think about the kind of society that the future may hold for us, and the
kinds of citizens we want to participate in that future.
If history is any indication, the decisions we make regarding how the
social studies curriculum is organized and delivered in the next decade
will influence how social studies in taught for the next century. From a
curricular standpoint, there is a certain irony that social studies educa-
tors—who are experts in teaching about the past and how it can inform
contemporary society and our future—are currently living almost exclu-
sively in the past. In order to move our curricular thinking into the realm
of the future, we must consider the generation of students who comprise
our immediate and long-term future.
The Millennials
I’ve got my phone in my left pocket, my palm pilot in my right pocket, and my
iPod on my belt everywhere I go . . . My mom has one, my girlfriend has one
and my brother has one.
—20-year-old aerospace engineering student
(Evangelista, 2004)
Born between 1979 and 1995, the millennials2—also known as the echo
boom, generation Y, Generation XX, Generation 2K—are more than
60 million strong in America. These sons and daughters (and in some
cases grandchildren) of the “baby boomer generation,” are as young as
5 and as old as 20, with the largest portion still a decade away from ado-
lescence. They were born during the presidencies of Ronald Reagan,
George H. W. Bush, and Bill Clinton, and they are the biggest thing to
hit the American scene since the post-World War II arrival of the 72 mil-
lion baby boomers. Rivaling their parents’ generation in size, they are
more racially diverse, with one in three nonwhite. One in four lives in a
single-parent household, and three in four have working mothers. And,
while boomers are still learning to program their VCRs, their children
are tapping away at computers in nursery school.
The millennials are impacted by media and the Internet the way the
baby boomers were affected by television. But unlike television, which is
a passive, homogeneous medium, the Internet is driven by the millions
of people who, in an instant, can have their thoughts, interests, hopes,
and fears broadcast worldwide. For the millennials, information is im-
mediate. The most obscure fashion and music trends are available at the
click of a button. The smallest groups can meet one another, exchange
information, and even begin social movements. MoveOn.Org is effective,
in part, because of the instantaneous connection and feedback provided
by the Internet. Howard Dean owed his ability to raise the enormous
funds needed to run for the presidency in 2004 mainly to the Internet.
His pioneering work in using the Internet to mobilize thousands of peo-
ple in a short period of time has forever changed the way political cam-
paigns are organized and run.
This torrent of high-speed information has made the millennials’ in-
terests, personal viewpoints, and tastes more varied and faster changing
than their parents’, and grandparents’ ever were. Diversity is the embodi-
ment of the millennials. They encounter messages on a daily basis that re-
flect a stunning array of political viewpoints, consumer choices, and
cultural perspectives. The global reach of the Internet has made it possible
for persons who have similar interests to talk with one another, provide im-
mediate assistance and aid, and share divergent points of view irrespective
of their national boundaries, ethnic differences, or cultural chasms.
But even more significantly, rather than go to a library, purchase a
newspaper, or even turn on a television, millennials receive information
in the places where they congregate. Technological developments such
as Apple Computer Company’s iPod are causing shifts in our culture
away from large communal areas such as a cathedral—a space we all can
inhabit—to a world of the iPod and Internet, which exists in our heads
and cyberspace (Evangelista, 2004).
Whether it is the Internet, a skateboarding tournament, video games,
or a rock concert, the millennials are plugged into the latest trends. A
music promoter for the rock band “No Doubt” booked them into a small
Manhattan club. On opening night, the crowd was packed with young
women who were dressed just like the lead singer. “How do they know
this? How do they keep up with what she’s wearing? It’s not from network
television,” said the promoter. “It’s online” (Neuborne, 1999).
82 Perry M. Marker
The millennials who sit in our elementary and secondary social

studies classrooms are getting a vast majority of their news from such
nontraditional sources such as Jon Stewart’s “The Daily Show” and a
vast variety of blogs. An estimated 32 million people have read a blog,
while 8 million have created their own blog. Some blogs feature pho-
tographs and entries using mobile phones called “moblogs,” which
consist of mainly video clips known as “vlogs” (Kopytoff, 2005).
When the millennials use these blogs and other technologies, they
are encountering a mind-boggling array of issues, at once complex and
contradictory. For example, determining the moral implications of fight-
ing the “war on terror;” balancing the rights of the logging industry to
make a profit with the rights of those who wish to preserve the environ-
ment for the sake of future generations; the uncertainty of not being
able to think of one political party as exclusively conservative or liberal;
the lack of straightforward solutions to problems—these are but a few of
the issues that the millennials are bumping into on a daily basis. In the
world of the millennials, technological communications have the capac-
ity to transmit billions of messages simultaneously to almost anywhere on
the planet. News of a tsunami in Indonesia, a civil war in Sudan, or an
earthquake in California, reaches the millennials literally minutes after
they occur, and places our students in a virtual world where they are “on
the scene” as the event unfolds.
With this multitude of messages, one must ask: Do the messages that
millennials receive on a daily basis help them form a perspective that ac-
curately reflects the world? It is critical that the social studies curriculum
help millennials and future generations answer this question so that they
can gain a reliable and valid sense of world conditions. With the un-
precedented resources that are generating huge amounts of information
about the state of the planet and its people, there is a need for a social
studies curriculum that provides for the sharing and processing infor-
mation to help the millennials—and those that follow them—to gain a
sense of important patterns, divergent points of view, and future trends.
As the millennials are experiencing a realization that we are living in
an increasingly interconnected, shrinking world, they are finding rela-
tively little evidence in the contemporary social studies curriculum of this
awareness. Millennials are caught in a century-old contemporary social
studies curriculum that was created for a society and generation of stu-
dents who could not begin to imagine their complex, interconnected,
global world. The social studies curriculum that we currently have—one
that has no focus on the future—is in peril of being deemed irrelevant to
the millennials and the generations of students that will follow them into
our future.
The World in 2056

Predicting the future is always tricky. I remember reading about a world
where we were destined to a future of alien beings inhabiting the earth
before the end of the twentieth century, replete with flying cars, and ro-
bots that would serve our every need. The validity of future forecasts is
discussed in detail by Longstreet and Shane (1993) in their ground-
breaking work, Curriculum for a New Millennium. They reported the re-
sults of a poll of scientists and other scholars conducted by Elfreth
Watkins in 1889–1900. All of the items listed were forecast at least four
years before they actually occurred (p. 178):
• air-conditioning
• color photography
• 150 mph trains
• disappearance of certain species of animals
• universal free education
• fast food
• aircraft
• radio
• global television
• free food and clothing for the underprivileged
Longstreet and Shane also reported that a 1971 survey of 50 scholars

forecasting the educational future for a United States Office of Educa-
tion study correctly predicted: lifelong learning and retooling for the un-
employed; increased corporate participation in education; increased
accountability for schools; increased use of microelectronic equipment
in the classroom; and education for senior citizens (p. 179). Although
these studies do not by themselves validate forecasting the future, they in-
dicate that forecasts have been taken seriously in past, and they have pre-
dicted the future with some modest degree of accuracy.
A vision of the future—embedded in healthy doses of fact and fiction—
can provide a window into the future. Having a vision of the world in the fu-
ture can inform us as to what kind of world the citizens of the future may be
facing. As difficult as it may seem to imagine, we can hardly deal with the
world and seek to change it if we are not attentive to the possibilities and
problems of the future. Longstreet and Shane argue that considering the
future can serve as the basis for “acquiring a set of tools important to the de-
velopment of educated foresight and thus, to the competence of curricu-
lum workers in the twenty-first century” (p. 166). Now, more than ever, we
need to consider the future in our social studies curricular planning.
84 Perry M. Marker
A primary way educators can expand their spatial and temporal

frameworks that can inform curricular planning is to consider scenarios
of possible futures. Using this futurist perspective, imagine looking back
from the middle of the third millennium. In the year 2056, these are
some of the developments that are part of contemporary life3:
Science
• Biotechnology, nanotechnology (molecular manufacturing)
and closed-environment agriculture efficiently feeds the world’s
population;
• Thousands of people work in space communities in orbit, on the
moon, and on Mars;
• Intelligent life forms has been discovered and contacted;
• Hydrogen, fusion, third-generation fission plants, solar-powered
satellites, and renewable energy sources provide a safe and abun-
dant mix of energy;
• After a series of megahurricanes and floods in 2031–2032, the cli-
mate has begun to stabilize—the use of fossil fuels for power and
transportation have been all but eliminated;
• Virtually every body part and organ of the human body can be
replaced and/or regenerated.
Technology
• A person’s body serves as “password” eliminating the need for toll
booths, credit cards, passports, etc.;
• The internal combustion engine was eliminated in 2025 with
hydrogen-powered fuel cells powering cars and mass transit;
• After the crash of 2020, the Internet was disbanded in 2025,
being replaced by a wireless cybercommunity that is available
worldwide, resulting in global mobilization of political, social,
business initiatives.
Lifestyle
• Shopping is augmented by personal databases that help persons
determine and design personal wardrobes (e.g., as you browse
your shopping database, you get a message that announces “that
jacket won’t match the slacks you bought last month”);
• Electronic sensors in clothing can transmit mood, smell, taste,
anxiety via cyberspace;
• Artificial intelligence (AI) systems using neural networks augment
human intelligence and improve human decision making;
• The computer keyboard is a relic in the Smithsonian Museum.
Economics
• The Shanghai Stock Exchange in China is now the world’s largest
economic center;
• One half of the world’s population are now considered to be mid-
dle class;
• Access to cybernetworks, not possession, is the measure of wealth;
Education
• Multidisciplinary and nonlinear thinking approaches are com-
monplace in most educational curricula;
• The transition has been made from a mostly illiterate world to a
mostly literate world;
• Interactive, virtual learning rooms that can be adapted to whatever
is being learned have replaced the classroom—virtual trips can be
taken to any part of the planet and to the communities in space;
• The term teacher has been eliminated from the lexicon; learning
specialists work with students on planning and reviewing work;
• Virtual learning rooms, cybernetworks, now allow students to view
and question scientists and other professionals as they do their
daily work;
• Students have individual, lifetime Web sites that provide informa-
tion, feedback, and updating regarding their individual learning
styles and guides students to resources that fit their specific learn-
ing needs and interests.
Demographics
• World population is now at 9 billion;
• U.S. population is now 390 million;
• One of ten people worldwide are 65 or older;
• Eastern Africa has more people than all countries in South Amer-
ica, the Caribbean, and Oceania, combined;
• Western Africa has the same population of all of Europe;
• India has more people than China.
Politics
• The U.S. Department of Defense and Peacekeeping is required by
law to allocate 50% of its budget to diplomacy and peacekeeping;
• All media provide free airtime to elections thus eliminating the
need for multimillion-dollar election campaigns;
• The Information Age has morphed into the Age of Truth where
business and governmental malfeasance is instantly reported via
cybernetworks;
86 Perry M. Marker
• Cyberspace is now a right of citizenship with every person being

connected to the global information network;
• A generation of children who are now born in space have developed
a global ethic of tolerance and their interaction with earth-bound
citizens has provided insights into preventing social conflicts.
At the start of the third millennium, it is not enough to simply pre-

pare ourselves to function effectively with new discoveries, remarkable in-
ventions, and utopian visions. Rather, we need to reflect on how the
future will impact the quality of our lives, the kind of citizens we would
like to have in the future, and how we will live and work in our future.
Longstreet and Shane position the issue of curricular planning for the
future using a simple, yet powerful metaphor:
People sat outside on the porches of the country or the stoops of the
city to escape the summer heat. In the process they came to know their
neighbors well and felt a sense of real community. Then air-condition-
ing became widespread and available to even modest homes. The
porches and the stoops were abandoned as people stayed inside to
enjoy the cool. Getting to know your neighbor became a lot more diffi-
cult. In other words, air-conditioning contributed to the undoing of
‘community’ as we once knew it. If we had been less naïve and more
aware of the potential impact, we might still have embraced air-condi-
tioning, but we could have thought more cogently about ways of sus-
taining the community of our neighborhoods. (p. 282)
As we consider the social studies curriculum, a serious deliberation

of the future that our students are entering should be part of the process
of developing a curriculum relevant to meet the needs and demands of
our future. Developing a future-oriented curriculum is no simple task. It
will mean that we must strive to overcome our cultural mindsets that
have dominated our industrial based, factory-oriented social studies cur-
riculum for almost one hundred years.
The Textbook as Cultural Mindset

The ability of the millennials, their children, and grandchildren to navi-
gate new technologies such as hypermedia, DVDs, cell phones, MP3
music players, electronic texts, and yet unimagined inventions in a
democratic society is paramount. Millennials need to use and under-
stand those technologies for their own purposes and for the public good.
To achieve this end, students need to traverse old and new technologies.
These are complex and demanding “multiliteracies,” which Martha
Rapp Ruddell (2004) argues should advance our view of curriculum
design and student learning. These multiliteracies have a profound ef-

fect on students’ lives. Ruddell argues that if students are to maneuver
using multiliteracies “teachers must move away from a dependence on
didactic, text-bound modes of teaching that place adolescents in passive
roles. Recent research that includes the voices of adolescents shows the
sharp divide that exists between their lives outside school and inside
school” (pp. 4–5).
It is the social studies textbook that, in part, is contributing to the
gap that exists between students’ lives inside and outside of school in our
democratic society. Perhaps one of the most pervasive cultural mindsets4
of our industrial-based, factory-oriented social studies curriculum has
been the standard textbook. As many as two-thirds of all social studies
teachers rely on and use a textbook as the dominant resource in their
classrooms, with worksheets, teacher lectures, and quizzes as additional
resources. Textbooks are steeped in a fact-based, chronological presen-
tation of history that is disconnected from and irrelevant to the lives of
the students who use them. Teachers use the textbook because it helps
them neatly organize history into “bite-sized” units for the classes they
teach (Marker, 2004).
Textbooks are generally unscholarly, political documents that at-
tempt to inspire patriotism without encouraging students or teachers to
ask questions about historical issues or to think critically about the infor-
mation included between their covers. James Loewen (1995) asserts that
history textbooks provide a “rhetoric of certainty” that promotes histori-
cal “truth” and discourages critical analysis of the events, facts, and issues
included in textbooks. Loewen, in a comprehensive content analysis of
American history textbooks, found that textbooks supply irrelevant, er-
roneous details, and often omit pivotal facts about marginalized peoples.
Although supporters of textbooks argue that textbooks have improved
dramatically in recent years, textbooks are failing to connect a chrono-
logical, history-centered curriculum to the lives of students.
But even more importantly, the use of textbooks as a primary curric-
ular resource denies students access to the multiliteracies that are a fun-
damental part of their lives. Though we expect students to engage in
critically thinking about their world with respect to power, politics, eco-
nomics, history—all crucial elements of a social studies curriculum—the
textbook does not help millennials to navigate the many forms of literacy
that they daily encounter. Paraphrasing Paulo Freire (1974), the cultural
mindset of the textbook in the social studies curriculum does not enable
students to “read their worlds” in which they live. The more we use text-
books as the primary source of information in a social studies class, the
more likely it will be that students will receive a social studies education
that is incomplete, incorrect, uninspired, and irrelevant. As we develop
88 Perry M. Marker
curriculum for future generations, the cultural mindset of the social

studies textbook needs to be seriously questioned.
Our schools, and in particular, our social studies classrooms should
be arenas where democracy is practiced, interrogated, and perpetuated.
Parker (2005) discusses the democratic potential of schools by identify-
ing three essential keys to practicing and nurturing democracy in the
classroom: (1) Increase the variety and frequency of interaction among
students who are culturally, linguistically, and racially different from one
another; (2) foster competent talk and deliberation about common
problems; (3) expect, teach, and model competent, inclusive delibera-
tion (p. 348). Although most social studies educators might agree that a
democratic classroom begins with deliberation and discussion, the use of
the social studies textbook inhibits these democratic practices by placing
information “received” in its pages as paramount to democratic deliber-
ation. Facts, names, dates, and places—not deliberation—are the coin of
the realm in most social studies classrooms. Information that is in the
textbook is seldom questioned or critically examined. By using the social
studies textbook as a primary teaching tool, important elements of teach-
ing for democracy in the classroom cannot and will not be achieved in
many classrooms.
Given the antiquated roots and the textbook cultural mindset of our
current social studies curriculum, there is a serious curricular disconnect
in what we present to students as meaningful, essential, and relevant
learning, and what students need to know to become effective citizens in
the future. We need to engage millennials—and future generations yet
unnamed—in a social studies curriculum filled with multiliteracies from
a wide variety of sources that they can use to help make sound decisions
about their future.
The fragmented, chronological curricular pattern—dominated by
the use of textbooks—in which we are currently immersed, perpetuates
a intellectually dull, history-centered, unmanageable, and uninspiring
“Platte River Curriculum” that is a mile wide and an inch deep. So deeply
entrenched, so much a part of our cultural mindset is this curriculum,
that its familiarity obscures recognition of its deep-seated inadequacy
and irrelevance. At the onset of the twenty-first century a social studies
curriculum that is based on hackneyed assumptions that do not consider
the future is failing our citizens.
A Future-Oriented Perspective
Our world is dynamic and ever changing. Revolutionary innovation is oc-
curring throughout all aspects of society and will impact virtually every-
thing thing that we do. In fifty years, radical changes in social and
political mores, education, cultural awareness, medicine, transportation,

will be part of everyday life. We cannot imagine all that the future holds
for us. However, as we plan the curriculum we need to think about the
possibilities that the future might bring. By focusing on the future as we
think about, plan, and develop the social studies curriculum, we can con-
sider what the society might be like for millennials and their children. A
social studies curriculum must address a society that is constantly chang-
ing, and expanding into a future that is, in part, unknowable.
A future-oriented perspective in social studies curriculum planning fo-
cuses on the need for a requisite change in our curricular assumptions and
cultural mindsets so that confronting the unknowable future is incorpo-
rated into the goals of the social studies curriculum. A future-oriented per-
spective assumes that the curriculum we develop is not static, but flexible,
able to adapt to the changing world in which our students live.
Currently, we are confronted by a innumerable issues that raise com-
plex and perplexing problems that have no obvious answers: How will
the world address terrorism without infringing on human rights? What
will be the role a free and open press in a world heavily influenced by
multinational corporate control? How do we address the rights of all peo-
ple with respect to marriage? How will we feed a world population that
will more than double in fifty years? The answers to these questions are
to be found in our future. They will involve critical thinking that we can
hardly imagine today. If we are to prepare our citizens to make thought-
ful decisions, now and in the future, our curriculum planning must be
open to thinking about unfathomable and uncertain outcomes. Cur-
riculum planners who incorporate a future-oriented perspective will
need to constantly monitor and forecast change—and its cost and con-
sequences—in order to guide our curricular progress more wisely. Fu-
ture-oriented planning will result in curriculum change that focuses on
where we are going as well as where we have been.
Today, there are seemingly a limitless number of perspectives on
what students should learn and how they should learn it. In these post-
9/11 times, there is an emerging debate that is being initiated with the
social studies field and fueled by the belief that social studies educators
are not teaching the important facts that our citizens must know. This de-
bate casts the question: On exactly what should the social studies cur-
riculum focus in terms of patriotism and nationalism, social justice, and
cultural perspectives? Many social studies educators believe that the cur-
riculum is principally about transmitting a set of cultural beliefs to citi-
zens in order to reproduce our institutions and values in the next
generations. Still others believe that social studies should promote citi-
zenship that transforms and reconstructs society (Finn Jr., 2003; Ravitch,
2003; Lemming, Ellington, Porter, 2003; Ladson-Billings, 2003; Pang,
90 Perry M. Marker
Valle, 2004; Vinson & Ross, 2004). All of these positions have validity and
are certainly legitimate perspectives from which to build a social studies
curriculum. Regardless of one’s political perspectives as to what students
should learn, and how they should learn it, a future-oriented perspective
argues for a social studies curriculum that considers the future. Evans
(2004) argues that a key question that consumes the social studies is one
of its definition and vision. He states that the struggles over social studies
deserve a public discussion and deliberation, “shorn of the propaganda,
scapegoating, and interest group financing that we have seen in the
field’s recent history” (p. 178). Garcia (2004) suggests that if social stud-
ies is to remain viable in the twenty-first century, the field must avoid
being characterized as “old” and unresponsive to new forms of technol-
ogy. Social studies educators’ shared curricular interests should be in
promoting a democratic curriculum that attempts to find alternatives to
how we can best teach and learn. We can best promote democratic cur-
riculum when we address and confront our past, present, and future.
Maxine Greene (2000) has stated that we must be able to imagine our fu-
ture: “Where people cannot name alternatives or imagine a better state
of things, they are likely to remain anchored or submerged” (p. 52).
A future-oriented social studies needs to be encouraged, but it must
be rigorous and research based involving higher education, public school
personnel, and community members. We know more about teaching so-
cial studies than we knew fifty years ago. We know that we must connect
social studies content to the lives of the students, and we know that it takes
citizens who think critically to keep our democracy healthy and strong.
However, we cannot hope to reform the social studies without a future-
oriented perspective that involves us working more closely with schools.
This means thinking and working with those who are in schools on a daily
basis: administrators, teachers, students, staff, and community members.
There is an infinite “universe of possibilities” regarding how the social
studies curriculum could be taught and delivered. Social studies educa-
tors need to see themselves as working together with professionals in the
schools, working on curricular redesign efforts that focus on divergent
teaching and learning and research that can help jump-start a much
needed, sweeping reform of the social studies curriculum.
We should not move rashly to adopt a singular national curricular
perspective that is driven by ideology and special interests. Rather, we
need to take the time to conscientiously consider a wide array of per-
spectives that could help to reinvent the social studies curriculum and
make it relevant and flexible to meet the unknown demands of the fu-
ture. Perhaps we will discover that a social studies curriculum should be
regional rather than national to better serve the incredible diversity of
the society. Whatever the forum and its outcome, the time has come for
social studies educators to discuss how its curriculum can meet the needs
of future generations of learners, unlock the learning potential of each
student, and ensure an exciting, engaging, and rigorous course of study.
A Framework for Future-Oriented Curricular Theorizing

Contemporary, future-oriented curriculum theorizing about the social
studies curriculum is the work of passionate and dedicated social studies
educators at all levels of education, preschool through higher education,
and has the potential to provide an incredible wealth of critical perspec-
tives on social studies curricular issues. Decker Walker (2003) argues that
as educators consider curricular theorizing, there needs to be a recogni-
tion that there exists a “constructive tension with other viewpoints promi-
nent in their [intellectual] communities.” He goes on to point out that as
we theorize about curricular change we “need to recognize that many
perspectives offer useful insights, although no [singular] perspective
gives the whole truth” (p. 72). As social studies educators, we should em-
brace and celebrate our potentially rich curricular diversity and learn
how to discuss our differences constructively.
Rather than constructing prescriptive curricular models as we con-
sider the future in the social studies curriculum, a place to begin theo-
rizing about the future in social studies curricular planning is asking
questions that can guide our curricular planning—questions that will en-
courage us to examine who we are, and what we want our future to be,
as citizens in a democratic society.
What kind of society do we want in our future? With the expansion of
technology, our lives will continually change. How will technology fun-
damentally change the interactions between individuals and institu-
tions? Recently we have seen hundreds of blogs and Web sites devoted
to both questioning and supporting the war in Iraq, blogs were credited
with successfully pushing Trent Lott (R-MS) to resign as Senate Majority
Leader because of insensitive racial comments made in his public
speeches. U.S. Representative Pete Stark (D-CA), made history on Feb-
ruary 4, 2005, by becoming the first member of Congress to post a three-
and-a-half-minute video clip on the Internet in which he responded to
President Bush’s State of the Union speech. Two thousand and five hun-
dred constituents on Stark’s e-mail list were alerted to the new video,
posted two days after Bush’s address. Stark encouraged his constituents,
via e-mail, to give him immediate feedback on his positions on current
topics. Though virtually all national legislators, and many state and local
representatives communicate with their constituencies via Web pages
and e-mail, more members of Congress are expected to follow Starks’s
use of video technology (San Francisco Chronicle, 2005). One can only
92 Perry M. Marker
speculate how technology will be used to influence the democratic

process in the future. What is clear is that in order to meet the demands
of change, and to have some control over its nature and pace, we need
to think about how our democratic institutions may be challenged, and
how we can preserve our liberties to meet the demands of freedom in
our future. The kind of society that we want in the future will be directly
affected by how we answer this question today.
What kind of citizens are needed to address the challenges of the future? As we
consider our democracy, we also need to ask what role our citizens will
play in our future. The “War on Terror” has fundamentally altered how
we view civil liberties and first amendment freedoms. When more than
100,000 high school students were read the exact text of the first amend-
ment for a recent survey, more than 33% said the first amendment goes
too far in protecting the rights that it guarantees, while half of the stu-
dents responding said that newspapers should only be allowed to publish
stories with government approval. Seventy-five percent believe that the
government can censor the Internet (The Knight Foundation, 2005). As
we expand into our future, the role of citizens is fundamental to the suc-
cess of our democracy. Do we want citizens who blindly accept whatever
the government tells them, or do we want citizens who demand that the
government operate in a open, transparent manner? A social studies cur-
riculum needs to be clear about how our future citizens will respond to
the inevitable challenges and changes to our democratic institutions. Is-
sues of maintaining the status quo or reconstructing and transforming
society should be central to a social studies curriculum. Students need to
discuss these and other competing visions of the future along with their
benefits and consequences.
What are the civic skills critical to citizens of the future? Democracy is effec-
tive and strong when its citizens are adequately prepared with the civic
skills to have their opinions and ideas heard and addressed. Civic skills in
our contemporary society involve such things as influencing democracy
through news media, organizing for political influence and change, and
gaining the attention of elected representatives. We are in an era
of “sound bites” and “news events” where issues critical to our democratic
society grab our attention for a few days, then disappear from our con-
sciousness. We are in jeopardy of creating an “attention deficit democ-
racy” in which our attention span—driven by technology and instant
communication—does not encourage the media to follow a story to its
logical and often time-consuming end. For example, corporate malfea-
sance such as the recent Enron debacle, which resulted in billions of dol-
lars being lost to its stockholders under the leadership of Kenneth Lay,
garnered international attention for a short time, then fell off our “col-
lective radar” because corporate news sources found that following the
details of such stories does not “sell.” As a result, many individuals and
corporations who commit crimes against the society and its citizens have
adopted the tactic of “riding out the firestorm” that their malfeasance
may create, knowing that the media and public will, more than likely, lose
interest. As we move into our future, what factors might change in our so-
ciety that will require new civic skills that can address this lack of focus?
For example, what new civic skills will be created to address issues of in-
stant communication and the inevitable influx of massive amounts of in-
formation? What new skills will be needed to sort through what may be
conflicting and contradictory data sources? A glimpse of the kind devel-
opment that may challenge future citizens’ civic skills is currently in evi-
dence through the establishment of online political blogs where citizens
are asked to use a variety of techniques and civic skills to instantaneously
and simultaneously investigate and influence legislation and legislators. A
social studies curriculum will need to identify and support the identifica-
tion and teaching of civic skills that will allow citizens to successfully navi-
gate and think critically about their democracy of the future.
Why not multiple, divergent definitions of citizenship education? For almost
a century social studies educators have been embroiled in an ongoing de-
bate, which, some argue, has been characterized as an all out “war” about
the definition of citizenship education. The search for a generally
agreed-upon meaning of citizenship education is tantamount to the holy
grail. It is time to call an end to this futile and divisive struggle. Rather
than a singular conception that all social studies educators must agree
upon, there can be many divergent and competing definitions of citi-
zenship education that all work toward the same goal of encouraging cit-
izens to participate in, and hence strengthen, their democracy. Social
studies educators all stand on the common ground of encouraging citi-
zens to participate in their democracy, regardless of their ideologies. It is
this end that social studies educators should be obliged to seek, and that
citizenship education must address.
Fifty Years and Beyond

The world in 2056 will be one that many adults living today would not
recognize. By mid-century more emphasis will be placed on what Richard
Samson (2004) calls “hyper-human” skills such as caring, judgment, in-
tuition, ethics, inspiration, friendliness, and imagination. However, no
amount of research and educated forecasting makes the future wholly
knowable. What we do know is that many social, political, economic, and
cultural problems will be facing our citizens fifty years from now and be-
yond. Social problems in the future such as overpopulation, disease,
threats to individual freedom, and ecological disasters may be avoided,
94 Perry M. Marker
or at least addressed more effectively, through recognition of their dan-

gers and a thoughtful discussion of their consequences. A reasoned and
intelligent view of the future is more likely to be crafted when there is a
willingness and ability for social studies curriculum planners to develop
a curriculum that can adapt to change.
Discussing and challenging our cultural mindsets are significant
steps to perceiving and grasping the future. Fundamentally and most
importantly, societal well-being can be affected by a future-oriented per-
spective in curriculum planning. Since all predictive techniques may in-
fluence the perception of reality, a future-oriented perspective in
curriculum planning can play an important role in the education of our
citizens. The decisions that we make about the curriculum today will
most certainly impact how social studies curriculum is developed and
delivered in the next fifty years and beyond. What is certain is that if the
social studies curriculum is not attentive to the future, its curriculum
may become irrelevant and moribund, failing its citizens and the very
democracy that we all so deeply cherish.
Notes
1. To read a reprint of this report see Nelson, M. R. (Ed.) (1916/1994).
“The social studies in secondary education: A reprint of the seminal 1916 re-
port.” Bloomington Indiana: ERIC Clearinghouse for Social Studies/Social Sci-
ence Education. The curricular pattern established in 1916, and still persists
today, is:
grade K: Self, school, community, home
grade 1: Families
grade 2: Neighborhoods
grade 3: Communities
grade 4: State history, geographic regions
grade 5: U.S. History
grade 6: Western hemisphere
grade 7: World geography or world history
grade 9: Civics
grade 10: World history
grade 12: American government
2. For an extended discussion of how the millennials are impacting the
study of new literacies and forms of new capitalism, see the work of James Paul
Gee, University of Wisconsin, Madison.
3. This list was developed from a variety of resources that include the National
Academy of Sciences; The Rand Corporation; International Institute for Strategic
Studies; Glenn, J. C. (1999). “A Global Status Report, January 1, 2050, The Human-
ist, November; Henderson, H. (2002). “ Education For A Third Millennium: Look-

ing Back From 2050,” New Horizons for Learning, http://www.newhorizons.org;
Dickenson, D. (2000). “Education 2050,” Imagine: What America Could Be in the 21st
Century, Rodale Books. For a detailed list of forecasts for the next fifty years and be-
yond, see issues of The Futurist, published by the World Future Society, and recent
issues of The Globalist, McPherson Square, Washington, DC.
4. The concept of “cultural mindsets” is adapted from the work of Wilma S.
Longstreet and Harold G. Shane in Curriculum for a New Millennium, Allyn and
Bacon, 1993. Longstreet and Shane define cultural mindsets as “the impact of tra-
dition” on our society, education, and curriculum. See pages 7–10 for a detailed
discussion and the implications of this concept for curriculum.
References
Barr, R. D., Barth, J. L., & Shermis, S. S. (1977). Defining the Social Studies. Wash-
Evangelista, B. (2004, December 27). The iPod generation portable digital audio
player becomes the apple of techno-centric eyes. San Francisco Chronicle, p. C3.
Finn Jr., C. E. (2003). “Why This Report?” In Terrorists, despots, and democracy: what
our children need to know. Washington, DC: Thomas B. Fordham Foundation.
Fordham Foundation. (2003). Terrorists, Despots, and Democracy: What Our Children
Need to Know. Washington, DC: Thomas B. Fordham Foundation.
Freire. P. (1974). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Continuum.
Garcia, J. (2004, November/December). NCSS in the twenty-first century” The
Social Studies Professional, 184, 3.
Greene, M. (2000). Discovering a pedagogy. In Releasing the imagination: Essays
on education, the arts and social change (pp. 4–59). New York: Wiley.
It’s time to push the pendulum. (2004, October). Sunburst: The newsletter of the
California Council for the Social Studies, 30(1), 5.
Knight Foundation. (2005). The future of the First Amendment: What American high
school students think about their freedoms. Washington, DC: John S. and James L.
Knight Foundation.
Kopytoff, V. (2005, January 24). Web logs come of age as source of news. San
Francisco Chronicle, pp. C 1–C2.
Ladson-Billings, G. (Ed.). (2003). Critical race theory perspectives on the social studies:
the profession, policies, and curriculum. Greenwich, CT: Information Age Pub-
lishing.
Leming, J., Ellington, L., & Porter, K., (Eds.). (2003). Where Did Social Studies Go
Wrong? Washington, DC: Thomas B. Fordham Foundation.
Longstreet, W. S., & Shane, H. G. (1993). Curriculum for a new millennium. Boston:
Bacon.
Marker, P. M. (2004). “Old wine in a new bottle: 20th century social studies
in a 21st century world.” In K. D. Vinson & E. W. Ross (Eds.), Defending
public schools: Curriculum continuity and change in the 21st century. Westport,
CT: Praeger.
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Nelson. J. L. (1990). Charting a course backwards: A response to the national

Commission’s 19th century social studies program. Social Education, 54,
434–437.
Neuborne, E. (1999, Febuary 15). Generation Y. BusinessWeek OnLine. Retrieved
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genetic research to teaching about race and racism in social studies educa-
tion,” Theory and Research in Social Education, 32(4), 503–522.
Parker, W. C. (2005). Teaching against idiocy,” Phi Delta Kappan, 86(5), 344–351.
Ravitch, D. (2003). A brief history of the social studies. In J. Leming, L. Ellington,
& K. Porter (Eds.), Where Did Social Studies Go Wrong? Washington, DC:
Thomas B. Fordham Foundation.
Ross, E. W., & Marker, P. M. (2005). (If social studies is wrong) I don’t I want to
be right” Theory and Research in Social Education, 33(1), 142–151.
Ruddell, M. R. (2004). “ruok2dA (are you OK today?): Literacy and literate con-
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PART II
SOCIAL ISSUES AND THE
97
CHAPTER 5
DEFINING THE SOCIAL STUDIES CURRICULUM
INFLUENCE OF AND RESISTANCE TO
CURRICULUM STANDARDS AND TESTING IN SOCIAL STUDIES
Sandra Mathison, E. Wayne Ross, and Kevin D. Vinson
Curriculum Standards and School Reform

Virtually all of the subject-matter-based professional groups in the United
States have undertaken the development of curriculum standards since
the 1990s. With the relative success of the 1989 National Council for
Teachers of Mathematics (NCTM) curriculum and evaluation standards,
other associations, including a number in the social studies, have joined
the movement with high hopes. There are separate (and often compet-
ing) standards for U.S. and global history, geography, economics, civics,
psychology, and social studies. And these are just the national standards.
There often are companion state-level and, sometimes, local district
curriculum standards as well. (See http://www.education-world.com/
standards/national/soc_sci/index.shtml for a substantial overview of
these standards at all levels.)
During the 1990s the emphasis in school reform had been the devel-
opment of a world-class school system that can be directly linked to in-
creased international economic production and prominence. This
emphasis can be traced to the 1989 education summit in Charlottesville,
Virginia, which gave rise to the Goals 2000: Educate America Act subsequently
passed by Congress in 1994 and endorsed by the National Governors Asso-
ciation. And even further back to the A Nation at Risk report of the early
1980s. In that report, American educational performance was linked to the
decline in the “once unchallenged preeminence [of the United States] in
commerce, industry, science, and technological innovation.”
99
100 Sandra Mathison, E. Wayne Ross, and Kevin D. Vinson
The report focused on raising expectations for student learning. The

National Commission on Excellence in Education encouraged states and
local school districts to adopt tougher graduation standards (such as re-
quiring students to take more courses), extend the school year, and ad-
minister standardized tests as part of a nationwide, although not federal,
system of accountability.
Goals 2000 subsumed these ideas and added more. The goals were:
1. All children in America will start school ready to learn.

2. The high school graduation rate will increase to at least 90%.
3. All students will leave grades four, eight, and twelve having
demonstrated competency over challenging subject matter in-
cluding English, mathematics, science, foreign language, civics
and government, economics, arts, history, and geography.
4. Teachers will have access to programs for the continued im-
provement of their skills.
5. United States students will be first in the world in mathematics
and science achievement.
6. All adults will be literate.
7. Schools will be free of drugs, firearms, alcohol, and violence.
8. Every school will promote the involvement of parents in their
children’s education.
These eight goals are broad and, as such, provoke little disagreement.
Goals 3 and 5 most clearly direct the ongoing emphasis on standards.
Eight years after Goals 2000 (still unmet by most states) the reauthoriza-
tion of the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, renamed No Child
Left Behind (NCLB), solidified the “standards dream” (Mabry, 2004).
The term “educational standards” is used, though, in different ways.
Kohn (2000) distinguishes between a horizontal and vertical notion of
standards. Horizontal standards refer to “guidelines for teaching, the im-
plication being that we should change the nature of instruction.” The em-
phasis in the NCTM Standards on problem solving and conceptual
understanding, rather than rote memorization of facts and algorithms, is a
good example of this use of higher standards. “By contrast, when you hear
someone say that we need to ‘raise standards,’ that represents a vertical
shift, a claim that students ought to know more, do more, perform better.”
The term standards is therefore used to refer to both the criteria by which
we judge a student, teacher, school, and so on, as well as the level of per-
formance deemed acceptable on those criteria (Mathison, 2000).
Vinson and Ross (2001) sum up what standards-based education re-
form (SBER) is. SBER is an effort on the part of some official body—
Defining the Social Studies Curriculum 101
a governmental agency (like the U.S. Department of Education) or a

professional education association (like the National Council for the So-
cial Studies [NCSS])—to define and establish a holistic system of peda-
gogical purpose (like Goals 2000), content selection (like curriculum
standards), teaching methodology (like the promotion of phonics), and
assessment (like state-mandated tests). These intents combine such that:
(1) the various components of classroom practice are interrelated and
mutually reinforcing to the extent they each coalesce around the others,
and (2) performance is completely subsumed by the assessment compo-
nent, which serves as the indicator of relative success or failure.
There are a number of assumptions underlying the invocation of
standards-based educational reform.
• Students do not know enough.

• Curriculum standards and assessment will lead to higher
achievement.
• National and state standards are necessary to ensure U.S. com-
petitiveness in world markets.
• Federal guidance and local control can coexist.
• Centralized accountability and bottom-up initiative and creativity
are coherent aims.
• Standardization will promote equal educational opportunity.
• “Experts” are best positioned to determine what ought to be
taught and how in schools.
These assumptions, generally untested and without much supporting evi-

dence, are shared by many along the political spectrum creating a strong
pro-standards alliance.
The Conservative-Liberal Consensus on Standards

Standards-based education reform is advocated by groups and individ-
uals covering the political spectrum from right to left. In part, who
would be opposed to higher standards? An odd admixture of the likes
of E. D. Hirsch, Diane Ravitch, Bill Clinton, Gary Nash, IBM Chairman
Lou Gerstner, leaders of teachers’ unions, most state departments of
education, and the majority of governors (Republican and Demo-
cratic) join hands in support of SBER. In this section we will discuss the
ways in which SBER demonstrates an interesting coalescing around a
common solution to differently-perceived problems with differently-
perceived outcomes. (See Vinson (1999) and Vinson & Ross (2001) for
more thorough discussions of these issues.)
For both conservatives and liberals, SBER addresses two critical prob-
lems. First is the desire to see less federal government intervention in ed-
ucation, a position based on a desire to see power “restored” to states
and/or local districts. The second problem is the perceived threat to
U.S. competitiveness in the world economy, and the concomitant belief
that the failure of schools is at the root of this threat. (See Berliner & Bid-
dle, 1995, for a cogent challenge to this idea.) These two problems pre-
sent, on the surface, potentially conflicting responses—on the one hand
a decentralized, deregulatory solution seems called for and on the other
hand a centralized, regulatory solution seems necessary.
Conservatives advocate a single solution, SBER, as a tenuous strat-
egy for solving these two problems. SBER promotes an essentially na-
tionalist response without specific federal involvement. In other words,
SBER promotes agreement on shared curricular content such as back to
basics and Western culture (Hirsch, 1987, 1996; Ravitch, 1995; Ravitch
& Finn, 1987). Hirsch (1996) claims this position advocates equality of
opportunity: “. . . a core of shared knowledge, grade by grade, is needed
to achieve excellence and fairness in elementary education” (p. 138). At
least part of the failure of schools is their inadequacy in creating a cul-
ture of shared values, a homogenization of the citizenry represented in
a canon based on Western European, middle-class knowledge. These
shared values, he suggests, are critical to the promotion of economic jus-
tice and equality of opportunity.
This common core of shared knowledge is manifest in the conserva-
tive agenda of anti-immigrant policies, the English-only movement, ad-
vocacy of prayer in schools, and the elimination of affirmative action. In
addition, Ravitch (1995) suggests national standards provide a valuable
coordinating function—a creation of coherence in an otherwise unnec-
essarily differentiated curriculum, as well as protecting consumers by
providing accurate information about student and school performance.
Conservative supporters of SBER downplay direct federal govern-
ment intervention, though, choosing often to align the reform with the
voices of corporate America. Getting states and districts to adopt the core
is accomplished through persuasion, often economic in nature, by cor-
porate CEOs like IBM’s Lou Gerstner, and not through regulatory
means such as reform of school financing or an expansion of the federal
Department of Education. The adoption of business metaphors for
school reform is critical to the conservative agenda. Business provides the
framework for support of public school privatization, especially educa-
tional vouchers and charter schools, as well as the concepts for how
schools ought to be run, for example, merit pay for teachers.
While conservatives look to corporations for metaphors and
support, the liberal advocacy of standards is based on a professional
educator-as-expert stance. Work on the National History Standards

illustrates the reluctant entry of academicians and educators into
the standards-setting business, an effort to keep government and busi-
ness-noneducators from controlling the content of and pedagogical
approaches to schooling (Nash, Crabtree, & Dunn, 1997). Addition-
ally, liberals seek to create standards based on broad educational
themes, rather than specific knowledge, and with a focus on authentic
pedagogy (such as cooperative learning, performance assessment,
and so on).
The creation of curriculum frameworks supports the liberal notion
of local control of education. By providing general guidelines about cur-
ricular content and pedagogy, local education authorities are positioned
to decide for themselves on how these frameworks will be manifest at the
district, school, and classroom levels.
The most telling contrast though is the different form and expecta-
tion for SBER to provide equal educational opportunity. While the con-
servative position promotes an equality based on sameness, the liberal
position is an equality based on recognition and appreciation of differ-
ences. This is apparent in an agenda that seeks to champion high stan-
dards without standardization by strengthening and promoting diversity
through multiculturalism, bilingualism, teacher professionalism, and ef-
fective pedagogy.
Both conservatives and liberals adopt the position that an elite group
is best positioned to make decisions about what ought to be taught in
schools, and how. Whether the experts are conservative policy-wonks or
university-based researchers, neither position demonstrates an interest in
a grassroots, local voice in the discussion. Both conservatives and liber-
als thwart meaningful participation of the many by allowing the few to
speak for all (Ross, 2000b).
Social Studies Standards

Although in most subject matter areas there is a univocal call for and rep-
resentation of curriculum standards, in social studies there are no fewer
than seven sponsors of curriculum standards documents competing to
influence the content and pedagogy of social education. (See Table 5.1.)
As Ross suggests in chapter 1 of this volume, this is merely a manifesta-
tion of long-standing debates. “Social studies has been racked by intel-
lectual battles over its purpose, content, and pedagogy since its inception
as a school subject in the early part of the twentieth century.” The prolif-
eration of curriculum standards is more likely to foment a lively debate
about social education than it is to provide clear directives about the so-
cial studies curriculum.
Table 5.1 Competing Social Studies Standards
Grade Organized
Standards Sponsor Level Around URL
Expectations of Excellence: National Council K–12 thematic socialstudies.org
Curriculumn Standards for for the Social Studies strands
Social Studies
National Standards for History National Center for K–4 topics, eras sscnet.ucla.edu/nchs
(K–4) History in the Schools
National Standards for United National Center for 5–12 topics, eras sscnet.ucla.edu/nchs
States and World History (5–12) History in the Schools
National Standards for Civics Center for Civic K–4 questions civiced.org/stds.html
and Government Education 5–8
9–12
Geography for Life: National National Council for 4, 8, 12 standards ncge.org/geography/standards
Geography Standards Geographic Education
Voluntary National Content National Council for 4, 8, 12 standards ncee.net/ea/program.php?pid=19
Standards in Economics Economic Education
National Standards for the American Psychological high domains apa.org/ed/natlstandards.html
Teaching of High School Association school
Psychology
Without doubt the most generic curriculum standards are those cre-
ated by the National Council for the Social Studies. As indicated earlier
these standards seek to create a broad framework of themes within which
local decision can be made about specific content. Specifically, the ten
thematic strands are:
• Culture
• Time, Continuity, and Change
• People, Places, and Environment
• Individual Development and Identity
• Individuals, Groups, and Institutions
• Power, Authority, and Governance
• Production, Distribution, and Society
• Science, Technology, and Society
• Global Connections
• Civic Ideals and Practices
In contrast, the history standards prepared by the National Center

for History in Schools, are more specific, especially for grades 5–12, and
provide both a sense of how children should think (historically) and
about what.
National Standards for History (K–4)

Topic 1: Living and Working Together in Families and Communi-
ties, Now and Long Ago.
Topic 2: The History of Students’ Own State or Region.
Topic 3: The History of the United States: Democratic Principles
and Values and the Peoples from Many Cultures Who Con-
tributed to its Cultural, Economic, and Political Heritage
Topic 4: The History of Peoples of Many Cultures Around the World
National Standards for United States and World History (5–12)

Historical Thinking Standards
Standard 1. Chronological Thinking
Standard 2. Historical Comprehension
Standard 3. Analysis and Interpretation
Standard 4. Historical Research Capabilities
Standard 5. Historical Issues-Analysis and Decision Making
Contents of United States History Standards for Grades 5–12

Era 1: Three Worlds Meet (Beginnings to 1620)
Era 2: Colonization and Settlement (1585–1763)
Era 3: Revolution and the New Nation (1754–1820s)

Era 4: Expansion and Reform (1801–1861)
Era 5: Civil War and Reconstruction (1850–1877)
Era 6: The Development of the Industrial United States
(1870–1900)
Era 7: The Emergence of Modern America (1890–1930)
Era 8: The Great Depression and World War II (1929–1945)
Era 9: Postwar United States (1945–1970s)
Era 10: Contemporary United States (1968–present)
Contents of World History Standards for Grades 5–12

Era 1: The Beginnings of Human Society
Era 2: Early Civilizations and the Emergence of Pastoral Peoples,
4000–1000 BCE
Era 3: Classical Traditions, Major Religions, and Giant Empires,
1000 BCE–300 CE
Era 4: Expanding Zones of Exchange and Encounter, 300–1000
CE
Era 5: Intensified Hemisphere Interactions, 1000–1500 CE
Era 6: The Emergence of the First Global Age, 1450–1770
Era 7: An Age of Revolutions, 1750–1914
Era 8: A Half-Century of Crisis and Achievement, 1900–1945
Era 9: The 20th Century Since 1945: Promises and Paradoxes
Contrast both the NCSS and the history standards with those pub-
lished by the American Psychological Association for the teaching of
high school psychology. These standards mimic the study of psychology
at the collegiate level, including a focus on research methods and the
subdisciplines of psychology.
Methods Domain
• Introduction and Research Methods
Biopsychological Domain
• Biological Bases of Behavior
• Sensation and Perception
• Motivation and Emotion
• Stress, Coping, and Health
Developmental Domain
• Lifespan Development
Cognitive Domain
• Learning
• Memory
• Thinking and Language
• States of Consciousness
Socialcultural Domain
• Individual Differences
• Personality and Assessment
• Psychological Disorders
• Treatment of Psychological Disorders
• Social and Cultural Dimensions of Behavior
None of these standards documents accounts for the others—each is

a closed system that maintains the particular discipline intact. Therefore,
others, including state departments of education, district curriculum
committees, and teachers, bear the responsibility for finding a coherent
subject, social studies, within which to implement these various knowl-
edge and skill codifications.
In addition, these multiple sets of standards, when combined with
state curriculum standards, identify too many educational outcomes to
be taught and learned in the time allocated, what Popham (2004) iden-
tifies as one of the fatal mistakes of SBER.
Implementing Standards-Based Reform Through High-Stakes Testing

Advocating higher standards (either vertical or horizontal) makes a dif-
ference only if there is a clear sense of how we will know if higher stan-
dards have been attained. The single most critical, even overwhelming,
indicator used in SBER is standardized tests, especially high-stakes tests.
High-stakes tests are those for which there are real consequences—such
as retention, required summer school, graduation, pay increases, budget
cuts, district takeovers—for students, teachers, and schools (see Heubert
& Hauser, 1998). In virtually every state, the adoption of higher stan-
dards has been accompanied by the creation of high-stakes standardized
tests or changes to existing testing programs that make them high stakes.
The Failure of Testing to Meet Our Expectations

The frequency with which standardized tests are employed and the faith in
their power to reform schools, teaching, and learning seems ironic. The
brief history of standardized testing presented by Mathison and Fragnoli
(chapter 10 in this volume) illustrates the appeal of a “scientific” means for
decision making. Nonetheless, even the most prominent of educational

measurement experts judges the ever more sophisticated testing technol-
ogy as inadequate for most of the purposes to which it is put, a refrain
heard from an ever enlarging group (Mehrens, 1998; Popham, 2004;
Sacks, 1999).
As someone who has spent his entire career doing research, writing,
and thinking about educational testing and assessment issues, I would
like to conclude by summarizing a compelling case showing that the
major uses of tests for student and school accountability during the past
fifty years have improved education and student learning in dramatic
ways. Unfortunately, this is not my conclusion. Instead, I am led to con-
clude that in most cases the instruments and technology have not been
up to the demands that have been placed on them by high-stakes ac-
countability. Assessment systems that are useful monitors lose much of
their dependability and credibility for that purpose when high stakes
are attached to them. The unintended negative effects of high-stakes ac-
countability uses often outweigh the intended positive effects. (Linn,
2000, p. 14)
As Popham (2004) notes, this failure is often a result of schools using

the wrong tests in a SBER context, either norm referenced tests or state
standards tests that include a smattering of all standards in a subject area.
Both types are what Popham calls “instructionally insensitive.”
Resisting Standards and Testing

In the face of great enthusiasm for SBER and high-stakes testing there is a
growing resistance movement. This resistance, like the support for SBER,
comes in a variety of forms and is fueled by the energies of parents, stu-
dents, teachers, advocacy groups, and a handful of academics. The resis-
tance to SBER is based on three quite distinct arguments: (1) a technical
one—the tests are technically flawed or inappropriately used; (2) a psy-
chological one—SBER’s reliance on external motivation is counter-pro-
ductive and will lead to lower levels of achievement and disempowerment
for teachers; and (3) a social critique of testing—testing is a social practice
that promotes corporate interests and anti-democratic, anti-community
values. Each of these arguments will be briefly summarized.
For some, the problem with using standardized tests to ensure high
standards is that the tests are not very good. There is plenty of evidence
to support this argument. The use of primarily or only multiple-choice
questions is prima facie a questionable practice given the current under-
standings about how one can know what a student knows and can do. A
multiple-choice item is a very limited sample of any knowledge and/or
skill. Bad test questions (bad because there is no right answer; because
they are developmentally inappropriate; because they are impossibly dif-
ficult; because they are trivial; because they are culturally biased; and so
on) appear with regularity, often in newspapers and in the popular press.
Bracey (1999) offers some illustrations in an article in USA Today:
In Washington, fourth graders were asked to solve problems like this one:
“Lisa put some fruit in a large bowl. The bowl had twice as many apples as or-
anges, and half as many pears as oranges. Altogether there were 14 pieces of
fruit in the bowl. How many apples did Lisa put in the bowl? How many or-
anges? How many pears?” The requisite skills appear in 7th grade texts.
In Colorado, third graders read a vignette about Neil Armstrong in-
cluding his lunar landing statement, “One small step for a man, one giant
leap for mankind.” They were then asked to write an essay about what they
thought Armstrong meant.
And in South Dakota, sixth graders swallow this whopper: “Students will
analyze the geographic, political, economic and social structures of the early
civilization of Greece with emphasis on the location and physical setting that
supported the rise of this civilization; the connections between geography
and the development of city-states, including patterns of trade and com-
merce; the transition from tyranny to oligarchy to early democratic patterns
of government and the significance of citizenship; the differences between
Athenian, or direct democracy and representative democracy; the signifi-
cance of Greek mythology in everyday life of the people in ancient Greece
and its influence on modern literature and language; the similarities and
differences between the life in Athens and Sparta; the rise of Alexander the
Great in the north and the spread of Greek culture; and the cultural contri-
butions in the areas of art, science, language, architecture, government and
philosophy.” (p. 17a)
The other aspect of the technical argument is that high-stakes tests

are misused. In a statement on high-stakes testing by the National Re-
search Council’s Committee on Appropriate Test Use, Heubert and
Hauser (1998) lay out the common element of misuse the inappropriate
use of any single indicator for decision making.
Any educational decision that will have a major impact on a test taker
should not be made solely or automatically on the basis of a single test
score. Other relevant information about the student’s knowledge and
skills should also be taken in to account. (p. 3)
Although this position has been long-standing within the educational

measurement community, it has not been a compelling restraint on pol-
icy makers in establishing high-stakes testing programs that flaunt com-
plete disregard for this standard of appropriate and ethical test use.
Although the technical inadequacies and shortcomings of tests and

test items are easily identified, this critique is ultimately a shallow one. It
is a critique that might send test publishers and SBER proponents back
to the drawing table, briefly. As Mathison and Fragnoli illustrate in chap-
ter 10, technological advances that increase the quality and validity of
tests and test items are often short-lived and sometimes even rejected. Al-
though much could be done to make tests better and to promote re-
sponsible use of tests, “better tests will not lead to better educational
outcomes” (Heubert & Hauser, 1998, p. 3). Attaining better or different
outcomes is a much more complex matter than having ever more accu-
rately and precisely calibrated indicators.
The second argument underlying the SBER resistance movement is a
psychological one. The pressure to perform well on high-stakes tests leads
teachers and administrators to adopt teaching styles and activities that de-
pend on an extrinsic reward structure. Research on motivation and acad-
emic achievement clearly points to a high correlation between extrinsic
motivation and lower academic achievement (Ryan & LaGuardia, 1999;
Kohn, 1996). The corollary to this is research suggesting that school re-
forms that increase student engagement in personally meaningful tasks
and build a sense of belonging in a community of learners are ones that
lead to higher levels of academic achievement (Ryan & LaGuardia, 1999).
With regularity, stories appear in the mainstream media of damage
done to kids.
For Debbie Byrd, a restaurant owner in Pittsfield, Mass, the call to arms
came two years ago, when her son began suffering panic attacks and gnawed
holes in his shirts over the state’s demanding fourth-grade proficiency tests.
(Lord, 2000)
She turned 10 last week. Her bed at home lies empty this morning as
she wakes in an unfamiliar bed at a psychiatric hospital. Anxiety disorder.
She had a nervous breakdown the other day. In fourth grade. She told her
parents she couldn’t handle all the pressure to do well on the tests. She was
right to worry: On the previous administration, 90% of Arizona’s kids
flunked. (Arizona Daily Star, April 2, 2000)
When an East Palo Alto parent asked school district Superintendent

Charlie Mae Knight why there are no whale watching field trips this year,
Knight replied, “Kids are not tested on whale watching, so they’re not going
whale watching.” When the parent complained that whale watching doesn’t
happen on Saturdays, Knight shot back, “You mean to tell me those whales
don’t come out on weekends? Listen, after May 2, you can go (on a field
trip) to heaven if you want. Until then, field trips are out.” (Guthrie, 2000)
School Board members will discuss today whether they should institute
mandatory recess for all elementary schools, in response to a campaign by
parents to give their children a break between classes. Preparing for Virginia
tests had so consumed most Virginia Beach schools they had abandoned this
traditional respite. The notion that children should have fun in school is
now a heresy. (Sinha, March 21, 2000)
And on a broader scale, damage to children is reflected in higher

rates of children leaving school for GED programs, increased drop-out
rates, increases in grade-retention rates, and the creation of insur-
mountable hurdles of educational achievement for English language
learners, special needs students, and generally those who are living in
poverty (Mathison & Ross, 2004).
Test-driven reforms also have a negative effect on teachers’ motiva-
tions—robbing them of their professional capacity to choose curricular
content; to respond in meaningful ways to particular student needs; to
set an appropriate instructional pace; and so on (Mathison & Freeman,
2003). In Chicago, teachers are provided with a script—a detailed, day-
to-day outline of what should be taught in language arts, mathematics,
science, and social studies. Least there be any confusion about why this
script is necessary, at the top of each page is a reference to the section of
the standardized test that will be given to students in a specific and sub-
sequent grades.
As Ross points out in chapter 1, SBER constructs teachers as conduits
of standardized curriculum delivered in standardized ways, all of which
are determined by others who are very distant from the particular cir-
cumstances of classrooms, schools, and neighborhoods. “A fundamental
assumption of [SBER] is that deciding what should be taught is an un-
suitable responsibility for teachers” (Ross, 2000, p. 220). Ironically, or
perhaps not, standardized curriculum and high-stakes testing directly
contradict efforts, such as shared decision making, to make schools more
democratic, responsive to local needs, and supportive of teacher devel-
opment and reflective practice.
The other aspect to this psychological critique is the extent to which
SBER and high-stakes testing ignore the diversity of learning styles and
rates among children. Ohanian (1999) captures the idea succinctly in
the title of her book, One Size Fits Few. This extreme standardization and
universal application view is inconsistent with developmental psychology
(Healy, 1990), does damage to most students (Ohanian, 1999), and ig-
nores the diversity of students, schools, and communities.
Finally, there is a social critique argument proffered in the resistance
to SBER/high-stakes testing movement. This argument, while not dis-
agreeing with the technical or psychological arguments, suggests the in-
terests and values underlying SBER and high-stakes testing are what are at
issue. In particular, high-stakes testing and the standards movement in
general are conceived as a broad corporate strategy to control both the
content and process of schooling. In most states as well as on the national

scene, corporate leaders, like IBM’s Lou Gerstner, and groups, like the
Business Roundtable and its state-level counterparts (like the Business Al-
liance of Massachusetts, the Business Council of New York, and the Min-
nesota Business Partnership) promote SBER in the name of reestablishing
global competitiveness for the USA. The social critique of SBER suggests
this support is more about social control: control through the establish-
ment of a routine, standardized schooling process, which will socialize
most workers to expect low-level, mundane work lives that will cohere with
the low-skill-level jobs that have proliferated with globalization and in-
creased technology, and control through the well-established sorting
mechanism provided by standardized testing.
A critical element of this social critique of high-stakes testing is
an analysis of the values that are called upon by the corporate interest,
and which have appeal to Americans in general. These are values like
competition, individualism, self-sufficiency, fairness, and equity. (We
are reminded of the liberal-conservative consensus described earlier in
this chapter, a consensus that is based on common adherence to these
cultural values.)
Although corporations (big business, including the education busi-
nesses of curriculum production, textbook publishing, test publishing,
and for-profit educational management organizations—EMOs) promote
SBER and the use of high-stakes testing, parents, kids, and teachers
“push back.” Grassroots groups of parents (such as Parents for Educa-
tional Justice in Louisiana; Parents Across Virginia United to Reform
SOLS; Coalition for Authentic Reform in Education in Massachusetts;
California Resistance to High Stakes Testing; Parents United for Re-
sponsible Education in Illinois), teachers (such as the Coalition for Edu-
cational Justice in California), students (such as the Organized Students
of Chicago), and combinations of these constituencies (such as the
Rouge Forum and Whole Schooling Consortium) have sprung up
around the country. They stage teach-ins, organize button and bumper-
sticker campaigns, lobby state legislatures, work with local teacher
unions, and boycott or disrupt testing in local schools.
Conclusion
There is currently no more powerful force in education and schooling
than the Standards-Based Education Reform movement. It is a move-
ment that enjoys both favor and disfavor across the political spectrum,
as well as special-interest groups including social classes, ethnicities, and
races. There is every reason to believe it will fail. This likelihood makes it
no less compelling as a force in contemporary educational reform.
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CHAPTER 6
RACISM, PREJUDICE, AND THE
Jack L. Nelson and Valerie Ooka Pang
I wish I could say that racism and prejudice were only distant memories and
that liberty and equality were just around the bend. I wish I could say that
America has come to appreciate diversity and to see and accept similarity. But
as I look around, I see not a nation of unity but a division—Afro and white,
indigenous and immigrant, rich and poor, educated and illiterate.
Thurgood Marshall, 1992
Is social studies a proper place to examine current issues of racism and

prejudice and their impact on society? If not, ignore this chapter. Perhaps
you think previous social studies instruction or social action on these top-
ics has been successful, and that racism and prejudice are no longer sig-
nificant enough to be addressed in schools. Or, conversely, you may think
racism and prejudice are so ingrained in the American mind, or human
nature, that we can’t change them by education, so why try. That raises a
question of why anyone would advocate education on any controversial
topic that appears intractable; but you may have become somewhat cyni-
cal and so you don’t think social education can usefully address any social
issue. Maybe you just think social studies should stick to the tried-and-true
noncontroversial recitation of historical information, leaving social issues
to be settled before being taught. If, however, you believe social studies is
a good place to study racism and prejudice as contemporary concerns,
consider the issues that are presented in this chapter.
We think Justice Thurgood Marshall’s stark and depressing com-
ments in the 1992 quote above are still relevant, a dismal reflection of
both our actual history of conflicting social values and an indictment of
one of the failures of social education. Marshall suggests that just over a
115
116 Jack L. Nelson and Valerie Ooka Pang
decade ago we still did not have a nation of unity with liberty and justice
for all. Today, more than a half century has passed since the 1954 U.S.
Supreme Court decision in Brown v. Board of Education, but evidence from
current scholarship about the United States and most other nations shows
that racism and prejudice continue to be a compelling and dividing issue
of contemporary society in the United States and other nations (there are
many such works; a small sample would include: Banton, 2003; Barlow,
2003; Berbier, 2004; Campbell, Denes, & Morrison, 2000; Cowlishaw,
2004; Darder & Torres, 2004; Doty, 2003; Goudge, 2003; Guarjado &
Guarjado, 1996; Ross & Pang, 2006; Smedley, et al., 2003; Staiger, 2004;
Telles, 2004; Tsutsui, 2004). Though the Brown decision was an impor-
tant decree, many contemporary scholars continue to find that African-
American, Latino, American Indian, and Asian Pacific Islander students
still suffer severe academic inequalities from low graduation rates to at-
tending overcrowded, poorly funded schools (Califorians for Justice,
2001; Orfield & Lee, 2005; Patterson, 2001).
Apparently, scholars in the social sciences consider racism and prej-
udice as unresolved issues of great current importance, certainly impor-
tant enough to be studied by themselves and by students in schools.
Staiger’s (2004) ethnographic study shows more recently how continu-
ing negative stereotyping by white students in an urban magnet high
school demeans nonwhite students; desegregation falls far short of in-
tegration, she writes, “especially when schools avoid discussions about
race” (p. 161).
This is an issue of such magnitude and negative potential for society
that one would expect it to require increasing emphasis in the social
studies curriculum of our schools. Basic principles and purposes of civic
education and citizen development are stunted and distorted when dis-
crimination against minorities remains a social norm. But the social stud-
ies curriculum, with its traditional focus on history rather than issues,
often treats racism and prejudice as though these are resolved social
events, historic artifacts from a previous period. We usually offer students
historical information on such topics as slavery, the sorry treatment of
American Indians and Chinese and Irish and immigrants from most
countries, the Civil War, lack of legal status for women, internment of
Japanese in World War II, anti-Semitism, race riots, the Brown Decision,
and civil rights legislation. Many students, understandably, assume that
these issues are in the past and we are now a compassionate, caring de-
mocracy—a model for other peoples. Some conservative writers claim
that we are beyond racism (D’Souza, 1995). And the record of the Na-
tional Council for the Social Studies in addressing issues of racism and
prejudice is strangely mixed, representing a peculiarly cautious and con-
servative leadership of the social studies field (Garcia & Buendia, 1996).
Racism, Prejudice, and the Social Studies Curriculum 117
But racism and prejudice continue to be defining issues in society

and in American social studies education. Inherent fallacies about biology
drive racism, and influence the values people hold, the decisions they
make, and how they treat others (Pang & Valle, 2004). Racism is both
overt and covert, as well as personal, institutional, and cultural (Bennett,
1995). Meyer Weinberg (1977) defines racism as a system of privilege and
penalty based on the belief that groups of people are inherently inferior.
This belief is used to justify the inequality of opportunities, goods, and ser-
vices in a society, and it influences the personal interactions of people. It
also influences social organizations and how people define what is desir-
able. Racism is an especially virulent and nasty form of prejudice, but
there are many other examples of prejudice (Pang, 2005).
Prejudice in other areas often contributes, sometimes without thought,
to the perpetuating of racism. Social studies teachers may communicate to
students that the classical music of Mozart and Bach are examples of high
culture, whereas blues is a less-developed musical genre and so an example
of low culture, implying a racist view of music. Or teachers believe that to
address inequities in schools, educators must believe in deficient models
where change in individuals must be undertaken rather than institutional
reform (Campbell, Denes, & Morrison, 2000). Unfortunately, teachers con-
vey, in the visible and the hidden curriculum, sets of values that rest on prej-
udices rather than on knowledge. Unfortunately, racism is often a subtext
of those prejudices, even when the teacher does not share racist views.
Defining Race: A Social Studies Controversy

Among the issues that deserve examination in social studies courses is the
very definition of race. Race is a controversial construct; its definition and
its impact on the lives of humans deserve discussion. Full examination of
the ideas of race brings in pseudo-science, prejudicial law, anthropology,
sociology, psychology, history, geography, economics, philosophy, and lit-
erature. It also brings in critical thinking to challenge assumptions and
myths, while elaborating the basic concepts of justice and equality.
Race has become a benchmark factor in human relations, for good
or evil. We ascribe talents, status, values, and behaviors to people on the
basis of race. We keep volumes of governmental and unofficial records
on racial identity, racial separation on test scores, racial patterns of birth,
death and health, racial conditions of wealth and lifestyle, racial resi-
dence in neighborhoods, racial involvement in crime and athletics, and
racial family life and strife. Race has become a differentiating character-
istic for much of our lives. Underlying all this is an assumption that race
can be easily determined and used for differentiating among people be-
cause it is expected to be obvious.
The importance of race in modern society should require an ade-

quate definition of race, one that is clear, precise, and mutually exclu-
sive—categorizing a person should place them beyond a doubt in one
race or another or the categories are not useful. Such a definition should
provide the means to separate people on significant criteria that can eas-
ily be determined scientifically. Without this clarity, precision, and exclu-
sivity, race is nothing more than a linguistic construct attached to a set of
values and prejudices. But how do we know what race is and who is of
what race? Is derivation from our parents the criterion that determines
race? If one takes an evolutionary view, the consensus among modern an-
thropologists, geneticists, and molecular biologists is that modern hu-
mans, Homo sapiens, can be traced to central East Africa (Olson, 2002).
That would argue that there is only one human race. Another argument
would be that any group—national, religious, height, skin color, shoe
size, etc.—could be called a race; that renders the definition meaningless.
Valle (1997) traces the modern history of race—and thus, of racism—
to ideas in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, with attempts to clas-
sify groups such as the Lapps of Scandinavia as distinct from all others. He
notes that the idea of race as a classification system was largely the result
of two strands: hereditarians, who believed abilities and social status are
properly determined by one’s birth; and by advocates of social Darwinism,
to justify the concept that the already powerful people in society were su-
perior as a result of survival of the fittest. These quasi-scientific move-
ments gave birth to what is termed scientific racism (p. 138). This idea of
race was used to justify U.S. constitutional limits on voting as well as con-
tinuing efforts to control other people—oppressing, exploiting, enslav-
ing, and even exterminating peoples for economic and political goals
(p. 138). Valle goes on to conclude that the mounting scientific evidence
from several fields indicates that the concept of race is empirically mean-
ingless. That is, the concept of race cannot be supported by any standards
of objective fact (p. 139). Race is a divisive and destructive set of cate-
gories that are logically unjustified, but continue to be used in common
discourse and official records.
It does not take much to raise serious questions about the typical de-
finition of race: are whites a race? What of Greeks, Hispanics, Irish, Baby-
lonians, Lichtenstinians, Papuans, Jews, Koreans, bald men? Are any
national, religious, or physically different group a race? Of course, we
should also raise questions about the meanings ascribed to these unsup-
portable definitions of race, such as: are all whites (Greeks, Hispanics,
bald men) the same? Do all members of any race have the same morals,
ethics, behaviors, test scores, lifestyles? Are all members of a racial group
equally worthy of having the status of superior or inferior peoples?
Despite the striking lack of scientific underpinning for a definition

of race and the weakness of definitional quality, the idea of race is com-
pelling. It has proven useful for the powerful as a means of identifying a
group they consider inferior and gives them a label that cannot be over-
come by talent, work, or intelligence. It has offered supremacists a crutch
for carrying out their attacks against others. It is used for genocide, im-
prisonment, torture, slavery, removal, and control. There is social reality
to the definition of race, despite its lack of scientific clarity, precision, or
exclusivity. That reality is the use of race as a sociopolitical marker for
granting or limiting rights and privileges. That is the basis of racism, a
prejudice without scientific evidence or knowledge.
An issue rarely addressed in the social studies curriculum is the con-
ceptual origin of race and how this concept can be traced to beliefs of
racial group superiority—racism. Race is a sociopolitical construct that
has been created by humans to stigmatize, distance, and elevate them-
selves from those they see as others. Omi and Winant (1994) view race
as a concept that “signifies and symbolizes social conflicts and interests by
referring to different type[s] of human bodies” (p. 55). In traditional so-
ciology, scholars for the most part equated biological characteristics of
race with hair texture and color, skin color, head shape, and other body
features, and these extremely subjective measures were utilized to iden-
tify innate and inherited intelligence. Kleg (1993) described how the
concept of race from topological and geographical perspectives are
flawed. He further explains,
Human variability constitutes a continuum. Regardless of the classifica-

tion system used, whether topological or geographical, there is no
agreement as to the taxonomy. Racial designations are merely conve-
nient labels for discussing and comparing physical similarities and dif-
ferences among populations—race as something more tangible or
concrete than an abstract construct is fiction. (Kleg, 1993, p. 78)
So, as Kleg outlines, though people often use the term of race, it is not
clearly defined and represents a destructive view of those whose origins
are perceived to differ from a European orientation. It is an arbitrary con-
struct that is intimately tied to issues of power and political relationships.
Omi and Winant (1994) provide an illuminating example of the po-
litical and legal power of racism in our society. A Louisiana woman, Susie
Guillory Phipps, sought to change her racial classification from black to
white. She thought of herself as white, but found that records with the
Louisiana Bureau of Vital Records listed her as being black. She sued the
agency, but lost. The state contended that since Phipps was a descendant
of an eighteenth-century white planter and a black slave, she should be
listed as black on her birth certificate. A 1970 state law decreed that any-
one with “at least 1/32–Negro blood” was to identified legally as black.
Phipps lost her case because the court ruled that the state had the right
to classify and identify one’s racial identity. During the trial, a Tulane
University professor testified that most of the whites in Louisiana were at
least 1/20 –Negro (Omi & Winant, 1994, pp. 53–54). Race is often used
to place people into a large social category that does not consider indi-
vidual differences. This example demonstrated the immense power of
our legal system to arbitrarily set racial membership of citizens; this la-
beling system can place its citizens in subordinate positions because of
historical and institutional racism and prejudice as in the Phipps case.
Philosopher Lawrence Blum (2002), after exposing social and moral
defects that result from the popular use of race, argues: “Popular ideas of
race, confused as they certainly are, remain in place not primarily because
of scientific misunderstandings but through the weight of a racialized his-
tory and the current legacy of racial depredations” (p.146). He suggests
that racialization should be substituted as a term for race, since it is the
prejudicial application of the term “race” to groups of people that need to
be addressed in educational settings. Black or white or brown conscious-
ness is based not on race, but on racial identity—racialization. Asian
Americans and Latinos, Blums indicates, have a very weak sense of being
distinct racial groups, but do “appreciate that they have been racialized”
though they do not confuse this with actually being a separate race. This
approach has some value in social studies classroom discussions, offering
examination of a process of racializing groups for political or prejudical
purposes rather than operating on an assumption that distinct races exist
on some natural basis. The process idea moves us away from race as a nec-
essary condition of humans to consideration of possible changes in how
racialization works and how its impact can be mitigated. This takes away
the unscientific weight of the concept of race, while it permits critical
study of racism.
Racialization has been used to marginalize and exclude the partici-
pation of citizens in our legal and political affairs. Our history has many
examples of how the construct of race has been used to oppress mem-
bers of specific groups. African-American slaves were prohibited from
having any freedoms, even the freedom to learn to read. In numerous
cases African-Americans were killed because they strove to secure their
physical and intellectual freedom. In addition, Chinese immigrants be-
came the first group to be identified and excluded by race from immi-
grating to the United States as a result of the Chinese Exclusion Act of
1882. Executive Order 9066 signed in 1942 imprisoned a whole segment
of the population without due process. Not only were Japanese Ameri-
cans forced into concentrations camps, they were also stripped of all civil
rights by their own government. Racial identification is a political and so-

cial construct often used by the powerful to promote and sustain injus-
tices and inequalities (see Vinson’s treatment of oppression in chapter 3
of this volume, for example).
Racialization and our Basic Principles

The American credo of justice and equality for all is the dominant theme
of our fundamental national documents. The credo has been repeated
exhaustively for the past two and a quarter centuries in election cam-
paigns, for almost as long at annual meetings of patriotic groups, and for
most of the twentieth century in daily pledges in the schools. The credo
is one of the most pervasive themes of social studies as taught in U.S.
schools. The traditional social studies focus on ideals for civics and citi-
zenship training, and the strong patriotic undercurrent of the subject,
has made equality and justice for all a dominant topic in social studies in-
struction from elementary through secondary schooling. Substantial in-
creases in the proportion of the population going through the schools
during the twentieth century means that virtually every person now living
in the United States has received that message multiple times over sev-
eral years. Only recent immigrants may have escaped instruction on the
credo, at least until they start naturalization courses. And many immi-
grants have come to the United States precisely because they learned of
the American credo and wanted to experience its promise.
The American Credo Versus the American Experience

Clearly, the credo is a progressive and positive set of ideals for human so-
ciety, not just for the United States. How can our fundamental docu-
ments, patriotic organizations, election campaigns, and the social studies
educational program be faulted for presenting that positive view of our
society? Of course, they can’t. Indeed, the credo has been conspicuous
for so long that one might assume that, at the dawn of the twenty-first
century, these root ideas of liberty, justice, and equality were indelibly in-
grained into the American national character.
If that were the case, we should be surprised to discover examples
where the ideals are not manifest in everyday life. If we were to find
extensive evidence that these ideals were transgressed or deliberately
ignored, we should be more than surprised; we should be outraged
and should demand immediate and emphatic action to correct the lapse.
However, despite hollow claims to the contrary, extensive evidence
of racialization, racism, prejudice, and rising inequalities continues
to mount, without outrage or appropriate redress (e.g., Collins, 1999;
Henwood, 1999). This is a sobering and disquieting scenario, one that

illustrates that justice and equality are not the standards of U.S. society,
no matter the credo.
Pervasive racism long after the watershed Brown Decision, a case that
Thurgood Marshall had argued persuasively before the U.S. Supreme
Court before he was appointed as a Justice, is a prime example of the cor-
rosion of the credo. Marshall’s comments that racism and prejudice are not
distant memories in the United States are all the more indicting because of
his direct involvement in the Brown case, and his subsequent record on the
U.S. Supreme Court. He, more than most, knows the disparity between the
promise of the credo and the lived experience of many Americans.
As if to condone the racism and prejudice present at our nation’s be-
ginning, when slaves, American Indians, and women were denied basic
and full citizenship rights in the earliest constitutional agreements, con-
temporary American claims of justice and equality have foundered in re-
ality. Strenuous efforts to address this most serious breech of our ideals
have repeatedly failed or been compromised.
Similarly, the experiences of Latinos, Asians, and other U.S. minori-
ties have not embodied the American credo, nor have their experiences
reflected the just and equal treatment implied in the words inscribed on
the Statue of Liberty: “Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled
masses yearning to be free. . . .” Manifest destiny was one of the justifica-
tions for herding Native Americans into desolate locations without eco-
nomic, social, or educational equality. It also served as grounds for
conquering the West and storming Mexico City in the Mexican-Ameri-
can War to obtain part of Mexico that then became the state of Califor-
nia, a result that later made Latinos a minority in a land they had once
controlled. National security was a claim that presumably justified the in-
carceration of Americans of Japanese descent into desolate camps with-
out economic, political, or educational equality. These actions exemplify
neither justice nor equality, but rather demonstrate an unpleasant streak
of racism and prejudice in the American character, at least in its political
and governmental character.
The inconsistency between American ideals and the American expe-
rience of many of its citizens has been the subject of analysis and hand-
wringing by principled commentators for nearly the entirety of U.S.
history. Alexis de Tocqueville (1850, 1969), for example, noted the
“three races that inhabit the United States the white man the Negro, and
the Indian” (p. 317). Whites had power and happiness; the two unlucky
races had only their misfortunes in common. Both occupy an equally in-
ferior position in the land where they dwell; both suffer the effects of
tyranny, and, though their afflictions are different, they have the same
people to blame for them (p. 317). Gunnar Myrdal (1944), in another
penetrating analysis of the United States, presented more recent evi-

dence of the racist conditions and mentality that split the nation and
foretold continuing strife if left unresolved. Thurgood Marshall’s com-
ments in the 1990s suggest the long road ahead and the disappointing
results thus far. Carl Rowan (1996), the distinguished journalist and for-
mer Ambassador to Finland, argues that a race war is emerging, stating
that “racism has not been as virulent throughout America since the Civil
War” (p. 4), and he despairs of the broken promise of equal education
that the Brown Decision portended.
Minding the Gap: Responding to Racism and Prejudice

Obviously, we could close the great gap between our claimed values and
our actual behaviors. Some resolutions to this dilemma, however, are
even more destructive of the civilizing thrust of American ideals than is
the current bi-polarity. For example, one way to resolve the problem
would be to alter the American credo, restricting justice and equality to
a privileged few, as Plato suggested for the elite guardian class in his Re-
public. Another uncivil way would be to entirely eliminate any reference
to those basic ideals from our worldview, endorsing efforts by the cur-
rently powerful to oppress others at will under claims of marketplace
ethics, libertarianism, or social Darwinistic principles (see chapter 3 in
this volume, by Kevin D. Vinson for an extended discussion of oppres-
sion and citizenship education). Or we could move toward a form of
meritocracy, where some supposedly neutral agency measures and certi-
fies those who deserve justice and equality and places the rest in sub-
servient status—an idea satirized by Michael F. D. Young in The Rise of the
Meritocracy (1962). And, of course, we could travel the road of many pre-
vious tyrants and banish or destroy those who are considered inferior,
threatening, or not in the anointed elite. Infanticide for disabled chil-
dren in ancient Sparta, headhunting among South Pacific tribes, witch-
hunts in old New England, the Holocaust, and other more recent forms
of genocide, and constitute examples.
Clearly, the struggles for justice and equality and against racism and
prejudice are worthy efforts. Falling prey to the fears of prejudice-mon-
gers or tyrants is not in the interests of democratic civilization or good so-
cial studies education. The struggles have taken on global proportions as
more people in more nations come to realize the importance of demo-
cratic ideals, even in situations where tyranny still rules. The abolition of
racism and prejudice is, however, more than the sum of its academic
parts. It is an issue larger than a legal question, larger than a moral ques-
tion, larger than a political, economic, or geographical question. Simply
passing laws, preaching sermons, giving speeches, boycotting stores, or
moving to another place will not resolve the issue. It is also a social and
psychological question that incorporates changes in values and behav-
iors. This makes it an educational issue and a particularly important
topic for social studies.
Lest we leave the impression with these observations that things are
no better than before, that racism and prejudice are so pervasive as to
never be addressed, or that the American credo will always be a myth, we
hasten to indicate that there has been progress and things are better for
most people than they were at the nation’s founding. We applaud those
improvements in civilization, but we recognize how haltingly slow and
frustratingly fragile the process has been. Human grievances caused by
racism and prejudice are fraught with individual sacrifice and destructive
of our nation’s principles and strength. They continue as we strive to-
ward a better society, but the hesitant and twisting path to equality and
justice is a necessary transit to improvements in civilization.
We are optimistic, but realize vigilance and strenuous struggle are
necessary if the United States is to deliver on its ideals. Our optimism, de-
spite many distracting backward loops, is rooted in a belief in education
as a liberating and progressive activity. Education is liberating when it
frees the mind and spirit from oppressive superstition, myth, and exter-
nal control. It is progressive when it is based on a set of ideals that are in-
creasingly civilizing and inclusive—more equality and justice for more
people for more time. Social studies, properly developed, offers that crit-
ical opportunity for the future generations.
The great tensions between claims of equality or justice and the stark
reality of inhumane events in U.S. society provide a background against
which to examine and elaborate those ideals, extending them to more
people and to more governments. Prior to World War II, the idea of an
international legal challenge to governments and their leaders for
crimes against humanity did not exist, but the crimes did. That may offer
little solace to those who have and will suffer from those crimes, but of-
fers a glint of light to those in the future, as the ideas become criteria for
behavior. Similarly, racism and ethnic prejudice in the United States, as
depreciating and demoralizing as they are, are less acceptable in public
discourse and less permissible in public action than they were a century
ago. That progress is attributable to those, like Thurgood Marshall, who
carry the struggle forward, and attributable to the ideals themselves.
Without the ideals, there would be no criteria against which to measure
humanity’s progress. Without a strong liberating and progressive educa-
tion, the ideals remain words in a document and phrases at political con-
ventions. Hope resides with the young that social practice will approach
social ideals; education is the greatest force for the greatest good—
though education can also be abused and misused to create and sustain
racism and prejudice. Blind faith education, even when it is the result of
good intentions, can narrow and constrict, offering support for views
that prejudice thrives upon.
Social Studies, Racism, and Prejudice

Where does social studies fit into the breach between ideals of justice and
equality and reality in U.S. society? How can the social studies curriculum
adequately provide an education bridges this gap?
Of all the school subjects, social studies is the one that should be
most directed to the matters of racism and prejudice. It is the subject
most concerned with human ideas, ideals, and practices. It is also the
field most concerned with controversy and the critical examination of di-
vergent views. This dual focus, study of the human condition and exami-
nation of controversy, makes social studies the ideal location for study of
racism and prejudice. Social studies, in its best forms, uses ideas and in-
formation from a variety of disciplines to understand and evaluate con-
ceptions of race and ethnicity.
Science contributes to both the problems and the knowledge of
racism and prejudice; some scientific work has contributed to racism,
other scientific information offers corrections to prejudicial ideas (Pang
& Valle, 2004). For example, much of the so-called scientific evidence
about racial differences draws from early racist social science; early edi-
tions of now distinguished journals in psychological measurement
sought publishable studies that demonstrated the inferiority of some
racial groups. Much of the work of Jensen (1969), as well as Hernstein
and Murray’s The Bell Curve (1994), argues some races are naturally infe-
rior in intelligence to others by drawing on data from standardized test
measures, the development of which is rooted in the separation of races
by test scores. Intelligence tests do what they were designed to do, but
they may not actually measure intelligence (see Gould, 1996). Social
studies needs to incorporate examination of scientific and pseudo-scien-
tific ideas about peoples, including the background and impact of test-
ing itself. The process and impact of racialization is worthy of social
studies examination in schools.
The study of literature offers opportunities to examine racist and
prejudicial thought as well as literature of protests against these irra-
tionalities. From Little Black Sambo (1923) and The Adventures of Tom
Sawyer (1876/1987) to Native Son (1940/1993) and No-No Boy (1976),
racial literature abounds. Some of it affronts our current sensibilities, but
it is still appropriate literature for examination of the human condition.
The production and consumption of this literature, as well as the con-
flicting values it represents, are of strong interest in a thoughtful social
education curriculum. Censorship efforts to keep students from reading

the Adventures of Tom Sawyer or Native Son derive from wrong-headed
right- and left-wing advocates, who ignore the basic purpose of liberal ed-
ucation. Similarly, political correctness and school speech codes have
provided a contemporary veneer that tries to cover up the social contro-
versy that accompanies this literature. In addition to the obvious interest
a good social studies program would have in the study of censorship and
speech codes, which contradict our U.S. Constitutional rights to free
speech, the conflict in human values that this literature represents is also
a necessary part of social studies interest (Nelson, 1994).
The arts, including literature, represent both the highest and the
most degrading of human endeavors in regard to racism and prejudice.
Among such artistic pursuits as paintings, music, and sculpture are both
racist and prejudicial content and socially integrative themes—themes in
opposition to racism and ethnic prejudice. Art admired by the Nazis and
songs like “We Shall Be Free” by Garth Brooks exemplify this divergence
in view. The social studies curriculum should incorporate the study of
racial and ethnic prejudice through the arts as well as study of the arts
used in efforts to demonstrate the commonality of humankind. Inquiry
via the arts can assist students in comprehending and assessing racism
and other injustices as well as offering critical examination of the subtlety
of some forms of racism.
Racism and the Social Studies

The social studies curriculum examines human enterprise over time and
space. That is well beyond the traditional concept that social studies is
merely the study of “facts” and concepts from the disciplines of history
and geography. Time and space involve much more. School history is
usually a self-limiting subject, defined by traditional historians; it usually
follows the work of the powerful and leaving the powerless invisible and
unexamined. School history often covers up or sterilizes national dis-
graces in an effort to produce nationally patriotic citizens. U.S. history, as
taught in the schools for many generations, reflects a white male superi-
ority tradition; political, military, and academic leaders were assumed to
be white and male and mostly Christian. Women, members of minority
groups, non-Christians and atheists were marginalized in textbooks and
in the curriculum. The textbooks that have served as the core curriculum
for this approach to history were written, mainly, by traditional historians
and were required reading with little critical examination in most school
districts and social studies classes.
Geography, as taught in the schools, often ignores social interaction
and controversy, cultural and subcultural distinctions and values, and
concepts like justice and equality. There is a political geography of

racism and prejudice, but that is not commonly part of the standard
school curriculum. Racism against African-Americans in the South dif-
fers from racism in the northeastern U.S. as well as from racism against
Latinos or Asians in the west. There are fundamental commonalties, but
the perspectives and treatments have differed in different locations. Prej-
udice against people from various national-origin groups, such as
Greeks, Italians, Irish, Polish, Mexican, Chinese, Haitian, Vietnamese,
and Cuban, differs in intensity and animosity in differing locations across
the United States. Slavery, which contributed to the skin color dimension
of racism, was not always based on skin color but on geography and con-
quest; the conquered were the slaves, no matter the skin color or cultural
origin. Prejudice, influenced by political geography, is illustrated in re-
cent clashes in Northern Ireland, the Middle East, and Indonesia. Loca-
tion, location, location is the real estate sales cry; locations separate
people in communities, nations, regions, and hemispheres. Those sepa-
rations are subject to prejudicial values and actions.
Similarly, the fields of sociology, psychology, economics, political sci-
ence, law, philosophy, and anthropology have provided both sustenance
and opposition to racism in society. Early anthropological work gave us
the racial classifications, now considered false and misleading separa-
tions of people, which structured racism. Psychology provides the means
to assist in brainwashing people in support of genocide or racial mis-
treatment. Political economics is often a major rationale for prejudices to
keep out foreigners who could take American jobs. Law at one time was
organized to enhance and protect slavery and racism. And philosophy
contains rationales for separation into superior and inferior categories.
The same fields, however, provide studies and theories that challenge
racism at its base, as well as offering knowledge that can assist in under-
standing how racism works and how it can be addressed and mitigated.
These fields of study are similar to, but are not the same as social
studies. Social studies utilizes ideas and information from these and
other disciplines in order to provide understanding of the current and
historical knowledge on a topic and to open human issues to inquiry. It
is social studies that interrelates and integrates knowledge from other
subjects, it is social studies that takes on the enormous challenge to pro-
vide civic education to all students, and it is social studies that opens crit-
ical inquiry into the implications and practices of social values. Thus it is
social studies that has the responsibility to undertake an examination of
social knowledge and value dysfunction represented by fundamental
American ideals and the effects of racism and prejudice.
Unfortunately, social studies curriculum and instruction has devel-
oped a substantial baggage of dullness, vapidity, absolutism, censorship,
and inaccuracy in its promotion of patriotic nationalism and conserva-

tive social values. There are many reasons for this cloud over social stud-
ies including:
• special interest group pressures on schools and publishers;

• relative recency of social studies as a subject of instruction;
• an early linkage to traditionalist historians and history associa-
tions;
• lack of professional social studies association leadership;
• isolation of more critically oriented social educators;
• state regulations that mandate certain values or viewpoints on
social issues;
• lack of intellectual depth in teacher education programs;
• lack of disciplinary depth in undergraduate liberal studies
programs;
• role of teachers as subservient employees; and
• the broad chilling effect of censorious actions by boards and ad-
ministrators to restrict teachers practice and regulate curriculum
content (see chapter 5 in this volume, by Mathison, Ross, & Vinson).
These factors contribute to a skepticism that social studies can overcome

censorship, student boredom, sterilization of issues, hypocrisy, and pres-
sures to limit student inquiry into issues (e.g., Apple, 1990; Cherry-
holmes, 1978; Giroux & Penna, 1979; Stanley, 1992; Nelson & Fernekes,
1994; Moroz, 1996; Ross, 1997). Social studies instruction does not need
to be insular, boring, and restrictive of student knowledge. The subject
has the capacity—indeed it has the obligation—to assist students in de-
veloping insightful knowledge about human issues and practice in criti-
cal thinking for addressing them. It is the prime subject for doing this,
but must overcome its own history and lethargy to accomplish it.
Racialization, racism, and prejudice are prime examples of human is-
sues that deserve social studies treatment—but not in the sterile confines of
traditional history or geography. Race relations and prejudice are topics of
immense human controversy and impact, historic and contemporary,
which require critical examination in the interests of human progress. Dull
historical descriptions of early slavery or prejudice against Asians, Latinos,
Irish, or women in certain geographic locations imply that the problems are
only historic or are limited in place. They suggest that these issues have
been resolved or are currently inconsequential. Clearly, that is not the case.
Studies of social studies textbooks and curricula illustrate an apparent lack
of concern for justice and equality in the treatment of treatment of African-
Americans, Latinos, Jews, women, homosexuals, and other groups (e.g.,
Allen, 1994; Anti-Defamation League, 1944; Council on Interracial Books
for Children, 1982; Gay, 2003; Loewen, 1995; Perlmutter, 1992). It is also
evident that people of Asian and Pacific descent are virtually unrecognized
in the school curriculum (Pang, 2005; Pang & Cheng, 1998). Lack of ade-
quate, fair, and critical study in social studies is detrimental to the basic pur-
poses of social studies: social knowledge, civic education, and critical
thinking. Students of social studies deserve a better education.
Superficial techniques have been adopted by various organizations in
order to appear less “racist.” We have seen textbook companies move
away from the use of biased language against those who have been placed
in the category as “other.” For examples, there are few books that
presently use the terms of “savage,” “primitive,” or “noble Indian” to de-
scribe American Indians. In addition, many educators have eliminated
language that describes people from underrepresented “racial” groups as
“needy, disadvantaged, or less fortunate.” Stereotypical language has been
for the most part pushed out of textbooks. However, the underlying issue
of domination is still hidden in much of the social studies curriculum
(e.g., Loewen, 1995). Elizabeth Lasch-Quinn (2001), writes that positive
social developments from the civil rights movement have been derailed by
a combination of racist ideologues and race experts, new etiquettes in po-
litical correctness, and the self-centeredness of new age therapies. She ar-
gues that critical examination of extant ideas on race and racism can help
to bring us back to a focus on correcting the faults of prejudice. For
schools, that examination is best done in good social studies classrooms.
Social studies textbooks, for the most part, ignore racism. Loewen
(1995) studied twelve national textbook series and found they lacked con-
troversy because their implicit goal seemed to indoctrinate students in
“blind” patriotism. For example, he found that only one third of the text-
books series he reviewed accurately presented U.S. President Woodrow
Wilson’s views on race. Wilson was openly racist, a southerner who was “an
outspoken white supremacist and told ‘darky’ stories in cabinet meetings”
(Loewen, 1995, p. 27). As president, he segregated federal workers.
Loewen challenges textbook representations of Wilson as an American
hero, arguing that this presentation arises from a white, dominant view-
point. Wilson blocked legislation and actions that would have provided
more civil rights to people from underrepresented groups. For example,
Wilson hired whites in positions that were traditionally given to blacks dur-
ing his administration. He also vetoed a clause on racial equality that had
been proposed as part of the Covenant of the League of Nations.
Unfortunately, the social studies curriculum does a poor job examin-
ing the disparity between the American credo and pervasiveness of racism
in the American experience. Social studies as a discipline should ac-
knowledge and take responsibility for contributing to a racist and preju-
dicial agenda via its curriculum. As a field, social studies has often ignored
or been complicit with institutional racism. Institutional racism is a system

of legalized or commonly accepted practices designed to keep the domi-
nant group in power (McIntosh, 1989). This includes laws, policies, tradi-
tions, and rules—many widely taught and/or fostered by the social studies
curriculum—which serve to discriminate against certain groups of peo-
ple. Underrepresented groups continue to be marginalized by being
forced to the perimeter of society.
How do social studies teacher education textbooks present issues of
race and racism? Gay undertook an important study of ten social studies
teacher education textbooks published between 1994 and 2001. All of
these texts were written by well-respected and nationally known authori-
ties in social education and were aimed at elementary, middle, or high
school teachers. The criteria Gay utilized were to examine “deracializa-
tion” and she defined it as “de-emphasizing, distorting, excluding, or
avoiding elements of race and racism in the presentation of individuals,
the analysis of critical events, and the exploration of sociological issues in
educational programs and practices” (p. 129). She found that all of the
textbooks presented either a limited discussion of racism and race or
completely ignored the issues. In summary Gay (2003) concluded, “In-
formation about race, racism, and racially-identified issues, individuals,
experiences, and events included in these books is minimal in both
quantity and quality. It is fragmented, lacks specific details, and depth,
and is peripheral to the core of the narrative text” (p. 144). This conclu-
sion indicates that textbooks lack an understanding of the severity of
racism, and an arrogance regarding where these issues are ignored and
forgotten by teacher educators.
Remarkably, the largest organization of social studies educators, the
National Council for the Social Studies, has placed a little emphasis on
issue of racism and the role social studies in anti-racist education. Nelson
and Fernekes (1992) detailed this appalling lack of leadership from the
National Council for the Social Studies (NCSS). They examined the his-
torical record of the NCSS, from the 1940s to the 1990s, for evidence of
the organization’s commitment to one of the most important issues re-
lating to race—civil rights. Examination of the evidence from NCSS
archives lead to the conclusion:
[The National Council for the Social Studies’] record on civil rights can
only be characterized as negligent at best and indifferent at worst. NCSS
largely ignored the civil rights movement and in the process demon-
strated indifference toward a social crisis of immense significance, one
that challenged the very basis of democratic institutions and posed dif-
ficult questions for educators who daily had to confront the gap be-
tween stated ideals and social experience. (Nelson & Fernekes, 1992,
pp. 96, 98)
(For a critical examination recent stances of NCSS and its affiliated

group, the College and University Faculty Assembly, on issues of racism,
civil rights of immigrants and free speech, see Cornbleth, 1998; Fleury,
1998; Gibson, 1998; Hursh, 1998; Ladson-Billings, 1998; Pang, Rivera, &
Gillette, 1998; and Ross, 1997, 1998.)
Conclusion
Racism and prejudice continue at a serious and frightening level in Amer-
ican society. Basic principles claimed for U.S. democracy are contradicted
by the reality of the American experience, particularly for persons of
color. In this light the American credo is a gross hypocrisy. The debilitat-
ing irrationality of racism is eroding the core of U.S. society. Social stud-
ies is the area of the school curriculum most suited to examine racism and
to provide knowledge and critical analysis as a basis for anti-racist action.
The history of social studies responses to racism and prejudice offers little
hope, however social studies educators have within their power the abil-
ity to redress the past failures of the field. The time to act is now.1
The fundamental purposes of education, knowledge and critical
thinking, provide a strong rationale for NCSS and for all social studies
teachers to examine their own beliefs about racism and how these atti-
tudes influence social studies instruction. In addition, social studies edu-
cators must critically investigate the knowledge and values fostered by
the curriculum. If the social studies curriculum continues to ignore, ster-
ilize, excuse, or condone racism and prejudice the gap between the ide-
alized American and the American experience will only grow.
When Joseph Hawkins (1996), an educator with the Montgomery
County Public Schools, read the introductory quote from Thurgood
Marshall to a group of teacher candidates in the Midwest, he asked the
mostly white audience of students and faculty if they knew who Thur-
good Marshall was. A black young woman spoke up saying that Marshall
was the first African-American Supreme Court justice.
Hawkins probed the audience further; he asked, “What in American
history did he help shape?” There was dead silence. What Hawkins real-
ized from this experience that many teachers are not prepared to deal
with the social challenges of race and other issues dealing with bias. They
did not know of the relative recent history of Brown vs. Board of Education
of 1954 where Marshall was the lead lawyer for the case against segre-
gated schools even though their role as teachers would have been far dif-
ferent without the leadership of Marshall in that Supreme Court
decision. Hawkins was rightly concerned about the education of preser-
vice teachers and he believed what he found in this group of preservice
teachers was representative of others across the nation.
We believe Hawkins’ experience exemplifies the failure of social

studies education to raise critical social questions about the validity of the
construct of race and the role that these humanly created constructs of
race and ethnicity have on many aspects of society. We also have no
doubt that it is the responsibility of social studies educators to challenge
new and in-service teachers to provide students opportunities to question
and challenge the prevailing notions of race.
It is critical that teachers help their students to address these issues
head on with courage rather than ignoring or superficially covering
these public problems. Otherwise as Thurgood Marshall wisely under-
stood, racism and prejudice will continue to serve at the core of differ-
ential power and their resulting apartheid.
Note
1. There are groups of social studies educators working within and
outside of the National Council for the Social Studies that make issues of
social justice and anti-racist education central to the social studies cur-
riculum. See for example the Rouge Forum (www.rougeforum.org) and
Whole Schooling Consortium (www.coe.wayne.edu/wholeschooling).
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CHAPTER 7
THE COLOR OF SOCIAL STUDIES
A POST–SOCIAL STUDIES REALITY CHECK
Frances V. Rains
Race—the veritable “R” word. There is great discomfort when the “R”
word is used. I have observed the palpable wince when it is said out loud
in a room. When it is said in connection to the social studies curriculum,
it is so visceral that I can feel it even as I write this. It can make some roll
their eyes, while others may squirm in their chairs. Eye contact is lost.
And to the acute observer, a subtle glaze of disengagement can be wit-
nessed. A cross of something between, “ooh, this doesn’t pertain to me
because I’m White and race is about color,” or possibly, “I had a workshop
on race once, so I already know about race” begins to stealthily advance
across the audience. This is not to discount the broader range of per-
spectives that may exist, but rather to acknowledge that reactions to the
word “race” and the social studies curriculum are very tangible.
At the same time, simply put, “race matters” (West, 1993). In the bigger
picture of the United States, it mattered wholeheartedly in the past, and it
matters today. It may seem obvious, but it bears stating: the past is con-
nected to the present. Without an understanding of the race-based struc-
tural inequalities of the past, the present context of race in this country is
more difficult for many citizens to understand (e.g., Ambler, 2003; Bell,
1992; Chow, 1993; Darder & Torres, 1998; Lomawaima, 1999; Trueba,
1999; Kame’eleihiwa, 1992; Jackson, 1881/1993; West, 1993). The visceral
wince in a roomful of people can suddenly expand into rippling waves
across the country.
Unfortunately, the social studies curriculum has not been constructed
in a manner that offers many citizens the means they need to counter the
deluge of racial stereotypes and misinformation that exists within popular
137
138 Frances V. Rains
culture, mass media and day-to-day living. Social studies curricula could
provide the skills. Instead, the predominant “heroes and holidays” (Lee,
Menkart, Okazawa-Rey, 1998) social studies curricula, name-drops and
lightly colorizes without managing to provide substance, context, or the
ways in which racial issues have arisen in this country. This curriculum may
“feel good” and may even be “politically correct,” yet it fails to provide the
tools necessary to address race matters in intelligent ways.
Looking at the social studies curriculum with a capital “C,” it is not un-
common for social studies professionals and teacher educators to engage
in social studies work from the front end, from the standpoint of content
and instructional methods. It is a “pre-Social Studies” process. This is done
with earnest deliberation, determining what is important to include, how
it will be taught, and how it will be assessed. Make no mistake, this process
is essential to the successful delivery of the social studies curriculum.
Still, the preoccupation with the front end of social studies produces
colorblindness to the racial outcomes of this process. And, given the vis-
ceral reactions to the “R” word, this pre–social studies process alone, has
not been enough to bring race and the social studies curriculum into
focus, nor resuscitate the very tangible disengagement that occurs when
the word is mentioned. Therefore, for the purposes of this chapter, I
focus on the other end, on post–social studies realities, on how the color
of social studies plays out in real life, after people have had social studies.
I posit that this focus provides a type of post-social studies reality check.
It has the power to inform our thinking about race, the curriculum, and
the pre–social studies process.
Race, though, can seem so broad that one might not know where to
begin. Lest that be a stumbling block for those who might willingly take
on the task of rethinking the pre–social studies process with regard to
race and curriculum, I offer, here, the lived experiences and voices of
American Indian1 college students. Race is certainly not limited to Amer-
ican Indians, by any stretch of the imagination, and it must be noted that
my reasoning here is to simply offer concrete examples. Concrete exam-
ples have an ability to take something that might feel nebulous, and
bring it into sharper focus. It gives us something to ponder and wrestle
with, a place to begin to do the harder work of interrogating how we
think about race in relation to the curriculum.
The examples offered and interviews given, then, by these Native col-
lege students may shed light on the ways in which the Whiteness of social
studies works to subordinate the proverbial Other/s, and perpetuate the
status quo, while appearing politically correct. I assert that this “feel
good” approach, intended for the white majority, in fact, does not feel
good, especially when the “benign” (Rains, 1998) color of social studies
collides with post–social studies realities.
The Color of Social Studies 139
Post–Social Studies Realities: The Lived Experiences of

American Indian College Students
Since 2002, at the Evergreen State College, as a Choctaw/Cherokee
scholar and educator, I have had the privilege to work in a unique pro-
gram that takes liberal arts college courses out to the remote Reserva-
tions of the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State. My classes have
been held in the Tribal Courtroom, which also serves as the Tribal Coun-
cil Chambers of the Port Gamble S’Klallam Nation. But my class also
serves the Lower Elwha Klallam Nation, whose small reservation is an
hour-and-a-half farther west on the shores of the Strait of Juan de Fuca. I
also serve Native people living on the Suquamish Reservation, which sits
directly across the Puget Sound from the non-Indian city that ironically
bears the name of their famous Suquamish leader, Seathl.
The Lower Elwha students must drive an hour and a half to reach
our class at the Port Gamble S’Klallam Reservation, after a full day of
work, knowing that they have an equally long drive home, before they
must be at work the next day. The students who live at Suquamish only
have a twelve-mile drive, but the Nooksack student, who lives there, has
three children and the Port Gamble S’Klallam student, who also lives
there, has four children under the age of five. So, although their drive is
shorter, their child-care needs keep them busy until class time.
All of the Native students in this class are parents, except for one stu-
dent who was recently married. This year there were two newborns that
accompanied their mothers to each class, and several of my students are
grandparents. Some are Tribal Elders; others are future leaders. All are
citizens of their respective Native Nations and many are role models, tak-
ing risks as first-generation adult college students, to complete a college
education as an example to others in their respective communities. And
irrespective of age, most are the first in their entire extended family to
earn a four-year college degree.
So, directly from my all Native college classroom, emerge a host of
post–social studies realities, three of which I offer as a means of peering
through a window onto the post–social studies realities that my Native
students must deal with on a daily basis2.
Treaties and the College Speech Class

The first post–social studies example is drawn from an urgent e-mail I re-
ceived in the form of a plea. One of my Lower Elwha Klallam students
asked me to help her daughter, who attends a local community college.
Her daughter was personally confronted in class, by a white male student
who claimed that he “completely” understood the treaties the United
States had negotiated with “the Indians.” He went on to state that treaties
were “unfair to whites and should be abolished immediately.”
Then I received an e-mail directly from her daughter (K. Jones3,
e-mail communication, October 30, 2003) requesting any assistance I
might offer on resources on treaties. When we spoke on the phone, she
said, “This young man talked directly about my people and me, stating in
front of the whole class that he ‘knew’ that we, the Lower Elwha Klallam
people, ‘did not pay for our houses, but were given our houses and our
land for free.’”
This racial confrontation had occurred during her speech class at
the community college. So, this young Native woman, in a predomi-
nantly white class, changed her final speech topic from the original one
she had been interested in researching and learning more about, in
order to respond to this young white man. In her e-mail, and on the
phone, she was upset at these highly inaccurate and misunderstood ver-
bal attacks, and felt that she had no choice but to change her topic.
In her speech, she explained the reasons why the treaties were es-
tablished, by whom, ratified by whom (Congress), and for whose real
benefit (non-Indians). She explained that non-Indians hold title to most
of the land mass of this continent due to the unscrupulous deals made
via these treaties, often with the aid of vested non-Indian interpreters
and politically appointed Indian agents. She explained that the federal
government could simultaneously make a treaty with one Nation or set of
Nations, while at the same time, practice a form of ethnic cleansing on
other Native Nations (e.g., Blaut, 1993; Brown, 1971; Cocker, 1998; Jack-
son, 1880/1993; Jennings, 1975, 1993; LaDuke, 1999; Prucha, 1962,
1994). She then had to explain to the class and her instructor that Na-
tion Nations only retain 4% of the original landmass.
In her speech, she had to explain to this young white man, to her
other white classmates, and to her white instructor that the Lower Elwha
Klallam do, in deed, pay for their houses. She had to explain that the
land, her small reservation and the two other Klallam reservations, were
not free but, instead, represented all that was left of Klallam Territory,
which once covered the northern third of the Olympic Peninsula before
the coming of the white man and the treaties. That he, this young white
man, actually was living and going to college on what was Klallam Terri-
tory before the treaties, was a post–social studies reality that was not lost
on this young Native woman. She said, “ I had to explain it to them, since
they clearly never learned about this in school” (K. Jones, in-person conversa-
tion, November 27, 2003).
One could argue that it was a “teachable moment.” No doubt that
is true, but at what cost to this young Klallam’s identity, in a predomi-
nantly white class, with a white instructor? What personal costs would it
entail for her in a racially antagonistic college climate? What long-
range sociopolitical and cultural consequences would there be for her,
when she had to sacrifice her own learning interests, in order to teach
her peers and her instructor so that she could feel she had a right to be
in class?
I maintain that such post–social studies realities come with a hidden
tax (Rains, 1995, 1999), similar to a poll tax, that such students of color
must pay, simply to be in class. And in a classroom where the anti-Indian
sentiment runs high, this tax can sometimes prove to be too much for
the lone Native student in the room.
At the same time, what benefits (Rains, 1995, 1999) did this white in-
structor accrue, while the Native student “did the work?” As the Native
student paid the hidden tax to stay in the class, the white instructor “sat
back and quietly watched it all unfold” (K. Jones, personal communica-
tion, November 3, 2003). Where was the white instructor’s teaching re-
sponsibility and moment of opportunity that this little post–social studies
reality offered?
How did this form of taxation on the Native student relieve the bur-
den from the social studies curriculum to educate this white male stu-
dent, his white peers, and his white instructor on racial inequalities
embedded in U.S. history? For example, the white male student’s accu-
sation reflected the erroneous assumption that treaties were a form of pref-
erential treatment that miraculously bathed Indians in economic
wealth. In reality, treaties were legal documents that offered protection
to the Native Nation/s of any particular treaty, in exchange for drasti-
cally reduced living space, educational opportunities, and occasionally,
traditional fishing or hunting rights. In post–social studies reality,
treaties only minimally protected the particular Native Nation/s until
their reservation land was deemed to be valuable real estate, or had oil,
coal, fresh water, potential hydropower, uranium, timber, fish, or space
for grazing cattle. It was then considered too valuable by non-Indians to
continue to honor the treaty made. And since Indians were not legally
considered human beings until 1879, they had little legal recourse when
treaties were broken. The verdict for Standing Bear v. Crook case did,
however, determine,
[t]hat an Indian is a ‘person’ within the meaning of the laws of the
United States, and has, therefore, the right to sue out a writ of habeas
corpus in a federal court, or before a federal judge, in all cases where he
may be confined or in custody under color of authority of the United
States, or where he is restrained of liberty in violation of the constitu-
tion or laws of the United States. (Prucha, 1990, p. 153)
Now being considered a person had its merits, but still did little to
truly provide Indians with tools to protect their rights. And although
Indians were not legally considered to be actual “citizens” on a na-
tional level until 1924, their ability and minimum financial resources
to defend their treaty rights were often diverted to basic survival strate-
gies. Many Indians were not permitted to regularly vote until the mid-
1960s. This mirrored the voting experiences of Mexican-Americans in
the southwest and African-Americans in the south. Much as civil rights
had empowered people of color, in general, Natives, too, had to de-
fend their rights, in this case, treaty rights. And, their efforts to do so,
in the face of bigotry and hostile acts, became acts of empowerment
(e.g., Doherty, 1990; Ulrich, 1999; Wilkinson, 2000).
When the social studies curriculum bypasses such history, then all
students lose the opportunities to better understand and learn about the
history of race relations, about the ability to stand up for one’s rights as
a form of civil liberty, and about change, that however slow, things can
change. This young white man, his white peers and white instructor,
however, apparently did not have the benefit of such a social studies cur-
riculum. And the young Klallam woman, had to pay the price. Although
she made it clear to me that she, naturally, would want them to know that
her People did not get land and houses for free, she nevertheless was
angry and upset by their ignorance. She was frustrated that she had to
spend her learning opportunity on them, instead of on what she had
wanted to learn about through the speech. She couldn’t believe she was
having to teach them basic Indian/white relations from U.S. history.
I assert that the social studies “feel good,” “heroes and holidays” cur-
riculum perpetuates white privilege and reifies the status quo (Rains,
1998). This white male student felt confident and somewhat arrogant in
being able to confront this lone Native college student with inaccurate
information. Certainly, misinformation can come from many different
sources. Social studies, however, has the power to be the place where stu-
dents could acquire through content, inquiry, and practice, accurate in-
formation on race.
Potlatch and the Public School Teachers

Another example of lived experience as a post–social studies reality, oc-
curred when a Tribal Elder, one of the Lower Elwha Klallam students,
shared an issue related to the public school teachers, in particular. In
class one evening, she explained how hard it was for the teens on her
reservation to attend the local, predominantly white high school, due to
the racist incidents that continued to occur year after year. Even though
the school was only ten miles or so from the reservation, it was situated in
a predominantly white community, with a history of negative race rela-

tions. She stated that many in the tribe were frustrated because the:
• White teachers
• White administrators
• White secretaries
• White nurses
• White counselors
• White coaches, and
• White bus drivers
were so ignorant about Indians, in general, and about the Lower Elwha
Klallam People, in particular. When a racist incident occurred, it was com-
mon practice to penalize the Indian students, while often allowing the
white students to go unpunished. Deeply concerned about this issue and its
import for the future generation of the tribe, the Lower Elwha Klallam held
a council meeting and decided to take a bold and empowering action.
The Lower Elwha Klallam Nation made the decision to host a tradi-
tional potlatch as an effort to bridge the cultural divide. White teachers,
administrators and staff were cordially invited to attend.
It is important to note that many of these white teachers lived less
than twenty miles away, yet had never set foot on the reservation before.
Some had taught Native students in their classes for years, but had never
come out to the reservation to learn more about their students or the
tribal community that the school served.
It is also important to note that hosting a traditional potlatch required
an enormous amount of money for this financially strapped little tribe. A
traditional seafood feast had to be prepared. As this is a Coast Salish fish-
ing nation, the livelihood of many of the tribal community members de-
pends on catching fish and shellfish. Preparing for this feast meant that
they donated whole catches to this dinner. Dungeness crab caught in Dun-
geness Bay and the cold waters of the Strait of Juan de Fuca, along with
shrimp, oysters, and salmon had to be traditionally prepared. Several vari-
eties of clams (e.g., geoduck, butter, cockles) had to be dug and baked or
made into chowder. Salmon fillets spread on wooden stakes had to be
cooked over open fires. Although all of these foods are traditional to the
Klallams, it still takes an enormous amount of time and preparation. In ad-
dition, gifts had to be made, Pendleton blankets had to be purchased.
Part of the purpose of a potlatch is to generously feed and “gift” the
invited guests, to honor and thank them, and to give all the gifts away.
Ceremonial dancing and singing also accompany the dinner festivities. It
was a huge undertaking, at some expense, but given the tribe’s concern
was for the welfare of their children, and this seemed a proactive effort.
However, after the potlatch with the white teachers, my Lower Elwha
Klallam student expressed disappointment that not one of the teachers,
despite their five, ten, or fifteen years of working with this tribe’s children,
knew what a potlatch was prior to attending this cultural event. She stated
that many of the teachers made individual comments during the potlatch
at how surprised they were to realize that the Lower Elwha Klallam didn’t
live in tipis. These teachers, who worked and lived within twenty miles of
this Coast Salish Nation, who had Lower Elwha Klallam children in their
classes every single day, did not know, apparently, that the Coast Salish
had traditionally lived in plank-style cedar longhouses.
Granted, the “feel good” curriculum could address housing easy
enough. The Tribal Elder understood this. Rather, she offered the hous-
ing example to expose the lack of even the most basic information about
Indians, in general, of many of the white teachers who work with her
grandchildren, nieces, and nephews. Her point was that if they didn’t
even know that, how could they possible be able to treat her grandchil-
dren, nieces, and nephews with a modicum of respect?
This post–social studies reality was a glaring message to the Indian
parents and to the tribe regarding how race is not studied in the social
studies curriculum. Teachers who do not know the race relations history
of the past will have a difficult time turning the present tide of Native
teen drop-outs. This, then, is another small window on the lived experi-
ences of post–social studies realities.
Indian/white History and the Newspaper Article

Another example is from a newspaper clipping that one of my Port Gam-
ble S’Klallam students brought to class. A white hamlet named Port Gam-
ble has been losing economic viability in recent years. Travel from one
end of the quaint little village to the other, even with its 25-mile-an-hour
speed limit, takes less than 2 minutes.
A literal stone’s throw across the bay is the Port Gamble S’Klallam
Reservation. If my students and I were to walk out the front of the Tribal
Center, where the Tribal Courtroom/our classroom is, we could easily
see the details on buildings of Port Gamble across the water.
In this clipping, a well-intentioned white journalist had apparently
considered the future of the Port Gamble hamlet. She had developed a
solution to save this tiny town. Her solution was to
. . . make the town’s past its future. Port Gamble should become the west
coast ‘Old Sturbridge Village;’ the Puget Sound Pioneer Village. . . .
There are many examples of these ‘living history’ museums around the
country. But none of these towns, whether original or restructured, is
more perfectly suited to the task than Port Gamble. . . . The mill itself
would certainly take a bit of retrofitting to return to working mid-1800s
condition but the site is intact. . . . Port Gamble Bay would once again
harbor tall-masted schooners. Even the Hilltop Cemetery would be an ed-
ucational encounter—a poignant testament to the perilous lives of those
early families. . . . The experience would be greatly enhanced by the par-
ticipation of the Port Gamble S’Klallam Tribe. A replica of an early S’K-
lallam village should be constructed next to ‘Old Port Gamble.’ Displays
would explain the role of salmon, past and present. Tribal artists could
exhibit their work. On calm days dugout canoes could ply the waters of
the bay. . . . Appropriately costumed staff would guide the tours and
demonstrate various activities of life in both the early mill town and S’K-
lallam village. Special events could be scheduled including 4th of July pic-
nics and S’Klallam salmon bakes. . . . I feel my mission here is done, Port
Gamble is saved. Now, what to do with Indianola? [another White com-
munity]. (Tweten, 2003, p. 8)
Class reactions to the article began with eye rolling, but quickly turned
to exasperation. After all, this was the small white town that made the
S’Klallams move across the bay, promising them lumber to build big,
new homes, if they would just leave their ancestral longhouses on this
beautiful point of land. The other side of the little bay was prone to
flooding, which is why the S’Klallams had not built their longhouses
there in the first place. Still, living was hard after the 1855 signing of the
Treaty of Point No Point (ratified by Congress in 1859), and the white
town’s people promised the S’Klallams jobs. So, the S’Klallams had
moved to the other side with promises of jobs and good housing, and the
white town’s people proceeded to burn the S’Klallam longhouses to the
ground (Beckwith, Hebert, & Woodward, 2002, pp. 53–54). The white
town built the timber mill on the site of an ancient burial ground, and
“a white man gathered the bones of the cemetery, piled them and
poured coal-oil on” (Beckwith, et al., p. 53). This is the white town that
raped the primordial rain forest of this part of Klallam Territory, clear-
cutting the giant trees4 as they went. This is the white town that milled
those giant logs, making white town members rich, while the S’Klallams,
some of whom did work at the mill, lived in poverty, across the bay.
The millwork of white Port Gamble so polluted the waters that now,
despite the years that have past since its heyday, and despite the Boldt
Decision (Prucha, 1990, pp. 267–268) to protect the traditional fishing
rights of treaties, the fishing rights cannot always be honored because
the fish are sometimes too poisoned to eat. The small amount of edible
fish have been overfished, and the traditional ways and form of economic
independence for the Port Gamble S’Klallam are reduced.
That a white journalist could suggest putting a S’Klallam village
“next to” the town that actually occupies the location of the original
S’Klallam village was culturally offensive to my students. That she could
suggest July 4, the honoring of Anglo-Saxon independence from Britain,
as an opportunity for “S’Klallam salmon bakes” reflects the depth of

post–social studies realities. Freedom from Britain meant that the white
Americans had more time devote to the occupation and further invasion
of Indian lands, making and breaking more treaties as they marched to
the drumbeat of “Manifest Destiny.” That building a S’Klallam village
could be seen as a partial remedy for the now ailing white community
that displaced the S’Klallam, burned their ancestral homes to the
ground, stripped their forests, and poisoned their fish, is a true testimony
to the way post–social studies realities play out in real life.
Although there are more examples of lived experience with post–
social studies realities, some are too complex for the purpose of this chap-
ter, so they are left for another time. Nevertheless, the continual bom-
bardment of these post–social studies realities on these Native college
students add up. It often left them exasperated, frustrated, and wonder-
ing why social studies seemingly did so little to educate people.
Post–Social Studies Realities: The Voices of Native

College Students
In the winter quarter of 2003, I interviewed Native college students as a
focus group, about their perspectives on the post–social studies realities
they continually encounter. I asked them what they would say to social
studies professors, if they could talk directly to them? What would they
want them to know5? While they did not talk for a long time, their voices
exhibited frustration and deep concern. They have been through, as one
student called it, “the system!” Most of them went to the local predomi-
nantly white public schools. One student went to the Institute of Ameri-
can Indian Arts when she was in high school, and one student went to
Chemawa, a federal Indian boarding school in Oregon, for a year. Here
is the dialogue these students wanted me to share.
A Port Gamble S’Klallam mother of two small children, whose

job is to translate the National Indian Child Welfare Act Policy at
the grassroots level, worried about how prepared the teachers
were to help her son or daughter. She queried aloud:
What are teachers learning about Indians as people, about Indi-

ans as students? They just give up on our children. [sigh] The
teachers only teach one way. Their way. If the Indian kids don’t
get it the first time, they don’t try different strategies. Instead,
they think our kids are dumb, and they send them off to special
education just because they may understand things differently.
IT’S NOT RIGHT! Maybe, maybe what they [the white teachers]
need is an Indian Holocaust Museum. So, they could learn about
us. I went to the Jewish Holocaust Museum in Washington, DC. It
was hard, but I learned a lot. Maybe we need an Indian one, so
that teachers could learn.
A Lower Elwha Klallam Elder, who was instrumental in the fish-

ing rights movement of the 1960s and the 1970s, chimed in:
The curriculum needs to honor the distinctions between the cul-

tures of the different tribes. We don’t all do ANY-thing. But the
curriculum lumps us all together. And everybody learns about the
Plains Indians. Why don’t they learn about different tribes?
Her younger sister, an Elder-in-Training, who is also in the class

stated loudly and with some intensity: “Things HAVE GOT TO
CHANGE!!!” She continued more quietly,
The curriculum has to get more accurate about our history. Here
I am in college, just learning for the first time about a lot of this
history. It’s pretty sad that you have to wait till college to learn what
happened to the different tribes!!
A Port Gamble S’Klallam, mother of four, ranging from a junior

in high school to second grade, pointed out:
Right now, in the public schools here, they don’t even mention
the Indians from this region!! The books, and the teachers, seem
to have NO CLUE!! Instead, they teach about the Plains Indians
and the Cherokee!! . . . When I was a kid, I came home from
school thinking I must be a Cherokee because those were the only
Indians our teacher talked about!!! What’s weird is, it hasn’t
changed!!! The teachers STILL do that!!!
A Lower Elwha mother of 3 grown daughters, and 7 grandchil-

dren, who is very active in tribal politics, pounded the table
and said:
SOME-thing HAS to be DONE!!! For every state, there needs to be a

change in how they teach about Indians. They need to talk about
the Indians FROM those states. The history books need to
change, to address this. They need to TELL THE TRUTH ABOUT
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE INDIANS THERE—AND WHAT THE
WHITES DID TO GET THE LAND!!! It may be unpleasant, but it
HAS to be done!!
She continued:
Right from the get-go, from Kindergarten on up, children should

be learning about the Indians in their state!!!
The whole class agreed with this, with vigorous nodding. And the
mother of four from Port Gamble, wrapped it all up by saying,
The teachers and the professors should be required to learn about

Indians. Everybody needs to know this, not just Indian Peoples—
ALL AMERICANS SHOULD LEARN ABOUT INDIANS.
She paused a moment, and then said,
The curriculum doesn’t tell the truth. It passes on false informa-

tion. People shouldn’t have to wait till college to learn about Indi-
ans. People should be able to learn about Indians in K through 12
in a more accurate way!! THINGS HAVE GOT TO CHANGE!!!
So, these Indian college students were gravely concerned that not enough
effort was placed on the Indian experiences within each state. They were
concerned that the curricula oversimplified and universalized Indians as a
homogenous group—with an overemphasis on Plains tribes. They were
concerned that teachers seemed to be weaned on, as one student put it, a
“whitewashed history.” They were concerned about how that type of cur-
ricula had a direct bearing on the experiences of their children, as Indi-
ans, in the interracial classrooms, on the interracial school buses, and even
at interracial extracurricular events. But they wanted it to be clear that they
wanted that history not just for their children, but for white children, too.
Although these voices pose a different sort of post–social studies real-
ity, they were speaking from the heart. These are voices that are rarely
“heard” in such books. Yet, the points they raise about the social studies
curriculum are worthy of consideration. Take, for example, the “feel
good” way in which the elementary social studies curriculum addresses In-
dians. Between the third and fourth grades, it is not uncommon across
the country to have a social studies unit on “Indians.” Studied from the
basic five to seven geographic regions of the land, comparisons [typically]
are then made regarding housing, food, clothing, and transportation.
Children make paper feathers and crinkled brown paper “buckskin”
clothes. And there are many non-Indians who have fond memories of
making dioramas and replicas of Native houses when they were a child.
I would like to believe that those days are gone. That is, I would like
to believe that we are not still teaching about Indians as was done in the
1930s and 1940s. I would like to believe the social studies curriculum has
moved beyond the “what was life like for ‘Indians’ of _____ [geographic
region]______ before Columbus?” which leaves us frozen in a time warp.
I would like to believe that in the new millennia we could actually teach
more substantive content, but as the National Center for Educational
Statistics’ “The Nation’s Report Card, 2001, U.S. History Highlights” re-
minded me, this sort of housing, foods, transportation, and clothing
comparison approach is quite alive and well in the curriculum. Take for
example, the “Sample ‘Complete’ Response” that stated:
Choose an American Indian group from the map, and circle its name
directly on the map. [A map, sectioned into regions with 1–4 tribal
names each, is offered to the left of the question.] On the chart below,
list one way this American Indian group got food, shelter, and clothing
in the period before Europeans came to the Americas. Then list one
way your family gets food, shelter, and clothing. [After that . . .] Give
one reason why the American Indian group long ago and your family
today differ in the ways they get their food, shelter, or clothing. (Na-
tional Center for Educational Statistics, 2001, p. 13)
In this example, there is the map to the right of the “circle the Indian
group” and “chart” question. Below the map [the sample child circled Iro-
quois on the map] and questions was a little chart. The answers to the chart
had been written in a child’s manuscript hand [reproduced in italics here].
American Indians in the Period

Before the Europeans Came Your Family
1. Food: They planted food. 1. Food: We go to the supermarket.

2. Shelter: They built houses made 2. Shelter: We buy finished
of trees. builted [sic] houses.
3. Clothing: They used the skin 3. Clothing: We buy them from
of the animals they killed shopping malls.
Give one reason why the American Indian group long ago and your family
today differ in the ways they get their food, shelter, or clothing.
We differ because a long time ago there weren’t any stores or real estate people as we have today
Historical Theme: Historical Period:

The Gathering and Interactions Three Worlds and their Meeting
of Peoples, Cultures, and Ideas in the Americas (Beginnings to 1607)
(National Center for Educational Statistics, 2001, p. 13)

Don’t get me wrong, recognizing that there are different regions is use-
ful. Clearly, the teachers who went to the potlatch might have benefited
from at least that distinction. But beyond reinforcing regional stereo-
types, it seems a bit skewed to ask a student to compare apples and or-
anges. It seems a bit odd to have a child compare a group of people, in
this case, a “group” of Indians, from more than 400 years ago, with a po-
tentially non-Indian child from today. More understandable would be a
comparison between a Native “group” and a Settler group (e.g., Swedish,
Dutch, Spanish, French, English) of the same time period. Perhaps, two
Indian “groups” could have been compared, but to take a racial group
from one time period and compare them to an individual, in a com-
pletely different millennia, seems a bit off the mark.
It does, however, bring home the notion that American Indians are
treated as relics of the past. It may be really safe to learn about generically
regional Indian life before Columbus, and one can “feel good” about
learning that. But that was more than 500 years ago. It leaves a bit of a hole
in one’s learning to have an entire country, full of diverse people, only
come up for proverbial air for a big turkey dinner, a couple of wars around
the Revolution, and then, once or twice in the 1800s, mostly as obstacles to
progress [read: Manifest Destiny], and then to be submerged into oblivion
again, basically forever more. It’s an interesting approach. Of course, were
the tables turned, and Indians wrote history and did the same thing to the
white Americans, curricularly speaking, I would imagine it would be
frowned upon as having left a few key things out of the bigger picture.
The reason I share the test questions is to illustrate that far from being
gone, this regions/comparison approach to Indian inclusion in the cur-
riculum is alive and well, and seemingly popular as a way of counting “di-
versity” at the same time. Although this practice may reinforce stereotypes
of what “real” Indians look like, albeit from 500-plus years ago, it does little
to help with the post–social studies realities. It would seem that more is
needed. Teaching about how anyone got their food or shelter 500–600
years ago may not help a white male college student understand treaties,
how they came to be, who they benefited, or what treaty rights are. Being
able to recognize that Indians of 500 years ago “didn’t have stores or real es-
tate people” may not help a white journalist understand why the S’Klallam
replica village idea to save the white town across the small bay might be
problematic. And it may not help white teachers, who live less than 20 miles
from a Coast Salish reservation, understand that the Native teen drop-out
rate might, just might, be connected to the rate of racial incidences and
how they are [mis]handled by the predominantly white school. I do hope,
however, that by considering the Native examples of lived experience and
voices, a small window on the post–social studies realities might offer a fresh
approach to thinking about race and the social studies curriculum.
Conclusion: Post–Social Studies Reality Check

Race is a social construction, no doubt about it (see, for example, Nelson
and Pang’s chapter 6 in this volume). As West (1993) articulates,
. . . most of us remain trapped in the narrow framework of the domi-

nant liberal and conservative views of race in America, which with its
worn-out vocabulary leaves us intellectually debilitated, morally disem-
powered and personally depressed . . . Our truncated public discussions
of race suppress the best of who and what we are as a people because
they fail to confront the complexity of the issue in a candid and critical
manner . . . To engage in a serious discussion of race in America, we
must begin . . . with the flaws of American society—flaws deeply rooted
in historic inequalities and longstanding cultural stereotypes. How we
set up the terms for discussing racial issues shapes our perception and
response to these issues. (pp. 2–3)
If we, as social studies professionals and teacher educators, cannot dis-

cuss these issues (without wincing) then there is less hope for the cur-
riculum. Colorizing and name-dropping in a curriculum does little to
raise the understanding that future citizens need.
What do I mean by colorizing and name-dropping? Let me explain.
Each semester or quarter, I play a historic name game with my college
students. I have been playing this game in classes since the late 1980s,
and it has been interesting to see the name-dropping and colorizing that
has occurred in the social studies curriculum. When I ask my students to
name as many white historical figures as they can, the list is virtually end-
less, end-less. When I ask my students to name as many historical men of
color, the list has honestly gotten a bit longer over the years. Who do they
list? For the white male historical figures, typically presidents, generals,
politicians, entrepreneurs, and occasionally a scientist or inventor. For
male historical figures of color, the list is very specific: Martin L. King Jr.,
Malcolm X, Sitting Bull, Geronimo, and sometimes, George Washington
Carver, Frederick Douglass, and/or Tecumseh. That’s it. It started out
with just Martin L. King, Jr. and Sitting Bull, so has grown somewhat. Yet,
no Mexican Americans, Puerto Ricans, Chinese Americans, Japanese
Americans, or any other people of color are typically mentioned. Inter-
estingly, the Indian names are all “war” chiefs. Martin L. King Jr. is by far
mentioned with the most enthusiasm and frequency. The students
clearly feel good that they can offer his name. Malcolm X has come in
more recently, and the other two remain occasional.
When I ask about women, the lists run about the same, white women
having long lists, such as presidents’ wives, Amelia Earhart, some authors,
the women of the Seneca Falls Convention, Rachel Carson, and so on.
The women of color list has been very short, mainly Pocahontas
and Sacagawea. If someone has had a black history course, Madame
C. J. Walker or Mary McLeod Bethune may come up. Mainly, though, the
students just look at each other, looking miserable. It becomes pretty
clear, pretty fast, that they have had a Eurocentric history curriculum.
When I ask questions, especially about the people of color they have
named, they typically cannot offer one fact beyond Mr. King’s “I have a
dream” speech. They don’t actually know the speech, itself, although
they say they have heard it “over, and over, and over again every January.”
They just know the name of it. My point is the name-dropping has col-
orized a bit, but the substance behind the names is absent. I am not sure
how much it helps a citizen to know a name and not really know who the
person is. There is value, however, in knowing and understanding what
someone did, why they did it, under what circumstances and conditions,
and what were the consequences. That however hasn’t seemed to make
it into the curriculum yet, at least not in a manner that students can re-
tain by the time they get to college.
As Cornel West suggests, we must begin to dialogue in meaningful
ways about race that address the complexities. I ask that we move beyond
the colorizing, the name-dropping, and the politically correct, to deal
with race in earnestly helpful ways for our future citizenry. We can ill-
afford to treat race like the speed bumps on the Eurocentric highway of
life. Race has been an integral part of the American landscape ever since
the first European set foot on Indian land.
I ask that we take the post–social studies realities into our “presocial
studies” processes. I ask that we begin to include:
• The consequences of contact

• The consequences of racial inequalities
• The consequences of decisions made historically around race
• More than just the names of individuals great and small
• Beyond consequences, that we address who benefited, and who
did not, from such consequences
• How social movements were formed, why, by who, and what
happened
These are just a few ways to begin, I hope, to think differently about race
and the social studies curriculum. The “feel good” curriculum is not
enough to prepare our future generations for the post–social studies re-
alities. As Hinmahtooyahlatkekt (Chief Joseph), Nez Percé once declared,
I do not understand why nothing is done for my people. I have heard

talk and talk, and nothing is done. Good words do not last long unless
they amount to something. Good words do not pay for my dead people.
They do not pay for my country, now overrun by White men. They do
not protect my father’s grave. They do not pay for all my horses and cat-
tle. Good words will not give me back my children. Good words will not
give my people good health and stop them from dying. Good words will
not get my people a home where they can live in peace and take care of
themselves. I am tired of talk that comes to nothing. It makes my heart
sick when I remember all the good words and all the broken promises.
(Miller, 1996, p. 342)
Let us do more than talk. Let us think about the post–social studies
realities as a means of changing the substance and content of race in the
social studies curriculum. As Chief Joseph suggested, good words without
actions behind them are simply empty promises.
Notes
1. Before the politically correct prepare to censure my use of the term,
“American Indian,” please allow me to explain. Traditionally, most Native Peo-
ples refer to themselves by their tribal affiliation, (e.g., Cayuga, Mesquaki, Musko-
gee, Hopi, Arikara, Pomo, Makah). Some Native People, having grown up during
or after the initiation of “politically correct” phrasing may, indeed, also use “Na-
tive American” when speaking either about themselves or about Native People
more broadly. There are also many Native People who may use “Indian” or
“American Indian,” instead. My personal choice in using “American Indian” goes
to the treaties. Many treaties use the tribal affiliation and/or the identity “Indi-
ans.” Treaty rights are often in jeopardy, as much now as when they were first bro-
ken. Consequently, there is some risk that were Native People to give up the
usage of “American Indians” and/or “Indians” altogether, those who do not wish
to honor treaty rights, could cite the disuse of the terms to support their cause.
The purpose here is not to debate this, nor to speak for all, when I personally
choose to use the term “American Indian/s.”
I was raised before political correctness existed. And, as a Choctaw/
Cherokee woman, my Elders did not hesitate to use Indian or American In-
dian when speaking more broadly. To honor the treaties and to honor my El-
ders, I use the terms here, along with the capitalization of Native People, and
Native Nations as proper nouns.
2. In November 2003, I was invited to be part of the opening panel session
for the College and University Faculty Assembly (CUFA) for the National Coun-
cil of the Social Studies. The distinguished panelists of color (Drs. James Banks,
Valerie Pang, and Gloria Contreras) and myself were asked to address the “Color
of Social Studies.” For my own talk, I shared with my Native students that I would
be making a presentation to social studies professors, and what would they want
these professors, who develop social studies curricula, write social studies text-
books, and prepare future teachers, to know? They were enthusiastic in sharing,
and what unfolded was merely one week’s worth of daily lived experiences. I gave
the students my rough draft of the speech and asked for their critical feedback,
especially in how they were represented. I refined the talk based on their feed-
back, and then I presented the talk to the class before I presented it at CUFA. In
this way, the students knew exactly what I would be sharing to others. So, it is with
their permission and consent that their lived experiences are presented here.
3. Since the tribe is quite small, everyone knows everyone. Unlike the stu-
dents in my class who wanted the public to know about them/their points of
view, this young woman was not in my class. Therefore, it is important that the
identity of this young woman be protected. A pseudonym is used rather than her
real name as the APA style recommends.
4. There are large, old, black-and-white photographs of such trees, lining
the walls of many commercial establishments and restaurants all along the
Olympic Peninsula, including fast-food establishments like McDonald’s. Often
the images of white loggers, proudly standing on these ancient wonders, as they
lay on their side, freshly cut. There is no look on their faces that indicate the in-
credible destruction to the habitat that was being created. Most of the logs in
those photographs were so huge that tall men standing in front of the cut side of
the log were dwarfed. It was not uncommon for such logs, when lying on their
side, to measure between ten and sixteen feet high. The tragedy to the delicate
balance of rain forest ecosystem was lost upon such loggers, whose cutting force
would not end until all the trees were gone. It is hard to look at such photos.
They make my heart heavy with sadness.
The only remaining stand of old growth rain forest is in the protected
Olympic National Park. Although it is true that trees across the peninsula have
been replanted, often by the paper industry, it is, more often than not, without
the biodiversity that had an incredibly unique ecosystem. Huge areas of clear-cut
remain with smaller stumps, where a second and third loggers sweep has taken
place. Some Elders say that the changes in the weather patterns and rain fall over
the last two centuries is a consequence of cutting down the only ancient stand of
rain forest in the United States.
5. This data was presented at the American Educational Research Associa-
tion in April 2003. I made the draft of the group interview, and then shared
copies of it with them in class. It is with their permission and consent that I share
this interview here.
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CHAPTER 8
MARXISM AND CRITICAL
MULTICULTURAL SOCIAL STUDIES
Curry Malott and Marc Pruyn
In this chapter, we ask you to consider not only the relevance and utility of
Marxist analysis and critique in this day and age, but also how these might
fit into and connect with revolutionary approaches to teaching and learn-
ing that situate themselves within struggles for social justice and equity, like
critical pedagogy. We first map out a brief history of social studies instruc-
tion in the United States, and then to provide an alternative—a counter
narrative, a counter-hegemonic pedagogy—that draws more on Marxist
and critical pedagogical approaches to teaching and learning; namely Crit-
ical Multicultural Social Studies (CMSS). Finally, we argue for the explo-
ration— and potential fusing—of a Marxist pedagogy and CMSS.1
The Relevance of Marxist Analysis and Critique

In declaring the death of Marxism, those on both the left and the right
have used the 1989 fall of Soviet communism as “evidence.” For exam-
ple—in supporting arguments made by progressive educator Stanley
Aronowitz—Pinar, Reynolds, Slattery, and Taubman (2000) argue that
the failure of Marxist-oriented class struggle has led to “history itself . . .
undermin[ing] class analysis as a primary category of social and educa-
tional analysis” (p. 295). Allman, McLaren, and Rikowski (2002) on the
other hand stress the relevance of Marx’s dialectical theory of class
because of the global proliferation of those entering the ranks of the
working class, and thus the commodification of human labor-power.
These authors stress that they have become skeptical of those on the left
who “blame history or specific political conditions pertaining at specific
historical conjunctures” (p. 4) for their rejection of Marxism. In another
157
158 Curry Malott and Marc Pruyn
recent article, McLaren (2002) argues “these days it is far from fashion-
able to be a radical educator. To identify your politics as Marxist is to
invite derision and ridicule from many quarters, including some on the
left” (p. 36).
Supporting their Marxist analysis, McLaren and Farahmandpur
(2001) look to the objective conditions of today’s global reality, such as
the fact that the income of “the 225 richest people [in the world is]
roughly equal to the annual income of the poorest 47% of the world’s
population” (p. 345). They argue that Marxism, rather than being irrel-
evant, is perhaps more important now than ever. Citing Parenti’s (2001)
work, McLaren notes how the fall of Soviet communism has eliminated
socialist competition, allowing U.S. corporations to wage class war on the
people of the world more ruthlessly than ever before. The result is major
reductions in social spending, such as on education, and more people
being forced to sell their labor-power for more hours in today’s U.S. ser-
vice economy in order to survive. For example, between 1973 and 1994
the income of the richest 5% of the U.S. population increased 5%,
whereas the income of the poorest 5% decreased by almost 2%, resulting
in the top 5% receiving 46.9% of income and the bottom 5% receiving
4.2% (Kloby, 1999, p. 37).
However, Allman, et al. (2002), promoting today’s Marxist rejuvena-
tion, argue that analyses that focus exclusively on describing the conse-
quences of capitalism, such as social inequalities, can only take us so far.
What is more, a focus on the consequences of capital run the risk of blur-
ring the fact that social class is not a natural and inevitable category, but
a contested social relationship based on the commodification and ap-
propriation of human labor in the abstracted form of surplus-value.
What is needed, the authors contend, is not just a description of the ram-
pant injustices inherent in capitalist society, but a dialectical under-
standing of capitalism, which takes us to its heart: that is, to the use and
exchange value of commodities.
Marx begins volume 1 of Capital (1967) with a discussion of com-
modities, because “the wealth of those societies in which the capitalist
mode of production prevails, presents itself as ‘an immense accumula-
tion of commodities’” (p. 35). For products of human labor such as food
or human labor itself to become commodities, they must first have a
“use-value”; that is, they must be of some use in terms of maintaining or
reproducing humanity. Because most of what humans need to survive,
such as clothing, food, and shelter, requires human labor to produce
them, human labor itself has “use-value”—and is in fact the source of all
value (Marx, 1967). Use-values, such as food, become “exchange-values”
when they are exchanged for another product, such as medicine. Prod-
ucts become commodities when they are made for others and trans-
Marxism and Critical Multicultural Social Studies 159
ferred to others through an exchange (Marx, 1967; Allman, 2001). How-

ever, products do not become commodities until they enter into the di-
alectical capital relation. That is, the working class, the source of all
wealth, is the opposite of the capitalist class, whose wealth is dependent
on the existence of an able and willing labor force. In other words, labor
and capital define each other. Capitalism could not exist without a work-
ing class. The working class, on the other hand, is not dependent on cap-
ital, and would cease to exist as the working class without capital, which
the goal of their historic struggle (Marx, 1967; Cleaver, 2000; Allman,
McLaren, & Rikowski, 2002). The basis of this relationship is the value in-
herent in the ability of humans to labor.
Allman, McLaren, and Rikowski (2002) argue that the concept of in-
ternal relations “is the key that unlocks the purported difficulty of Marx’s
thought” (p. 5). In volume 1 of Capital (1967), Marx’s analysis of the ma-
terial reality of capitalist society led him to notice that the capital-labor
dialectic represents the internal relation of opposites, where the positive
element (capital) benefits from the relation, and the negative side
(labor) is severely limited and often devastated by the relation (Allman,
McLaren, & Rikowski, 2002). As a result, capitalism is based on the an-
tagonistic relationship between two opposing forces, capitalists and work-
ers. Put another way, because capitalism becomes possible when people,
out of necessity, are forced to sell their own labor as a commodity in the
market, capitalism is defined by the existence of a capitalist class that pur-
chases people’s capacity to create more value than the minimum amount
that is needed for them to survive. The further down wages are pushed
and the more people are relegated to the working class, the more unpaid
labor hours will be accumulated in the hands of the capitalist class (All-
man, McLaren, & Rikowski, 2002, p. 15). The fact that labor is purchased
for a wage hides the profit that is actually accumulated through this
process (Marx, 1967; Allman, 2001; Merryfield, 2001).
What is more, capitalist education seeks to create larger pools of
skilled workers than there are jobs in order to weaken the working class
through the creation of competition and division and a “reserve army of
labor.” This drives down the value of human labor-power and thus gen-
erates increasingly large sums of surplus-value, that is, capital, or what
Marx called “dead labor” (McLaren & Baltodano, 2000; Allman,
McLaren, & Rikowski, 2002).
Revolutionary Pedagogies for Social Justice and Equity

However, as previously suggested, the history of the development of cap-
ital is a contested terrain. This is demonstrated, for example, by some of
the consequences of capitalism, such as labor movements vying for a
larger share of the value they create through their labor-power. The non-
dialectical way “the lads” in Willis’ (1977) study working-class youth un-
derstood capitalism and their status as workers is also a consequence of
capitalism. The role of revolutionary education is therefore to assist
students to better understand how capitalism works through a multitude
of pedagogical practices, such as “problem posing” (see Freire, 1970).
These practices are intended to enhance the liberatory tendencies
among those relegated to the working class through critically reflecting
on one’s own experiences and assumptions about self, the “other” and
the world. McLaren’s, (2000) work on “revolutionary pedagogy” and All-
man’s (2001) work on “revolutionary education,” for example, offer a
framework to understand the role the working class plays in reproducing
itself through education. That is, Allman, McLaren, and Rikowski (2002)
argue that the tension that exists between teachers and students (see
Willis, 1977, for example) is representative of how capitalists divide and
conquer the working class. Because the work of teachers, reproducing fu-
ture labor-power through socializing their students into the capitalist sys-
tem of production, is necessary labor for the creation of surplus-value,
Allman, McLaren, and Rikowski (2002) consider teachers to be part of
the working class. To redress this dilemma, they argue that teachers need
to better understand their own role in reproducing the working class as
their own labor-power is increasingly commodified (i.e., used to produce
value for others) as education is privatized, which is central to the
process of globalization (Rikowski, 2002).
Similarly, Marxist social studies educator Rich Gibson (2000), de-
scribing what he considers to be the role of a radical educator, argues
that workers such as teachers earning $45,000 per year (on average, and
for example) are not capitalists, and are thus part of the working class.
What is more, like Allman, McLaren, and Rikowski (2002), Gibson
(2000) argues that educators need to learn to ask important questions
such as “where [does] value come from, and [what are] the social rela-
tions that rise from struggles over value?” (p. 14). These questions, Gib-
son contends, will facilitate the much-needed development, in students
and teachers, of a critical understanding of capitalist society with the po-
tential of challenging its internal relations.
Marxist educator Glenn Rikowski argues that McLaren’s recent work
on revolutionary pedagogy and its connection to teacher education has
“momentous implications and consequences for the anti-capitalist strug-
gles ahead” (McLaren, & Rikowski, 2001, p. 17) because it demands that
teachers have a well-developed understanding of the “inner dynamics” of
capitalism in order to understand what is happening to their students
and themselves. McLaren argues that education is central to the perpet-
uation of capitalism, because teachers play a pivotal role in either devel-
oping or hindering students’ understanding of capitalism and their rela-

tionship to it (Allman, McLaren, & Rikowski, 2002; McLaren & Rikowski,
2001). A revolutionary pedagogy can therefore assist students in uncov-
ering and challenging the root causes of capitalism such as the com-
modification of labor (McLaren, 2000; Allman, 2001).
The Social Studies

The social studies is the area of formal education in the United States
that is explicitly dedicated to the process of citizen formation, which de-
termines the relationships governing society’s useful labor, giving way to
the particular form that society takes. Introduced by the Committee on
Social Studies in 1916, the social studies was from the beginning a con-
tested terrain between progressives, such as John Dewey and George
Counts, and the conservatives, such as scientific efficiency proponents
like David Snedden, whose corporate-sponsored campaign successfully
defined the official purpose of the social studies (see Hursh & Ross,
2000; and chapter 1 in this volume).
The century-long “class struggle” within the social studies has been
over what type of citizens the social studies officially seeks to engender
(Hursh & Ross, 2000; Kincheloe, 2001; Vinson’s chapter 3 in this vol-
ume). That is, should the social studies perpetuate status quo inequali-
ties, or should they actively work to transgress the dominant social order
for a society based on the free association of humans in the reproduction
of their world?
The social studies emerged during a high point in progressive
thought in the United States as a response to a history curriculum that
was designed to mold people to be “industrious” and “thrifty” using the
banking method of education (Freire, 1970), which assumed that stu-
dents were devoid of “valuable” knowledge (Saxe, 1991). Conservatives
were interested in reducing the cost of educational assimilation in order
to increase the pool of surplus workers needed to fill the growing indus-
trial economy (Kincheloe, Slattery, & Steinberg, 2000). Progressives such
as John Dewey, on the other hand, sought a more civics-oriented, demo-
cratic alternative to replace and combat the conservative educational cur-
riculum (Dewey, 1916; Hursh & Ross, 2000; Kincheloe, Slattery, &
Steinberg, 2000; Saxe, 1991), which again was part of the larger social
struggle for equality and justice.
More recent educational theorists/activists, such as Peter McLaren
and Paula Allman, in continuing the progressive legacy of resistance and
struggle, argue that a dialectical understanding of self and society is nec-
essary for knowing how one is situated within the process of value pro-
duction, which is key for engendering democratic citizens ready to
liberate themselves, and in the process, humanity, from the labor/

capital relation. Marx’s dialectic, according to Allman (2001),
pertains to the movement and development of the material reality of

capitalism, movements and developments that result from human be-
ings actively producing their material world and with it their conscious-
ness as well. Marx’s dialectic . . . is open and allows for reciprocity
wherein that which determines is also mutually determined or shaped
at the same time; and thus there is no outcome that is inevitable or ir-
reversible. (pp. 4–5)
Traditionally—and even today—however, social studies instruction,

rather than embracing a dialectical perspective, tends to be devoid of
even the most basic elements of dialectics (Loewen, 1995; Ross, 2000a;
Kincheloe, 2001), which, we argue, is a trend that must be reversed.
Rather, the social studies are too often geared toward fostering obedi-
ence to authority through the memorization of disconnected facts in the
preparation of standardized tests based on the values and beliefs of our
white-supremacist, sexist, homophobic capitalist society (Loewen, 1995;
Ross, 2000a, 2000b; Kincheloe, 2001). Ultimately, “Traditional Social
Studies Instruction” (TSSI) (Ross, 2000a) serves to create citizens who
are willing to sell their labor as a commodity in the market for a wage,
thus producing surplus value, which represents the great tragedy of
labor; because it is surplus value, that is, capital, that is used as a form of
social control to oppress the working class.
Critical Multicultural Social Studies

We first coined the term “Critical Multicultural Social Studies” (CMSS)
in 2001 as we worked within the Teacher Education Program (TEP) at
New México State University (NMSU), teaching social studies pedagogy
courses. In so doing, we drew on radicals and progressives from social
studies and history such as Rich Gibson (2000), James Loewen (1995),
Valerie Pang (2004), E. Wayne Ross (2000a, 2001), and Howard Zinn
(2002, 2003); from multicultural education such as Antonia Darder
(1991, 2002), Rudolfo Chávez Chávez and Jim O’Donnell (1998), Peter
McLaren (1996), and Christine Sleeter (1996); and from critical peda-
gogy such as Paulo Freire (1970, 2000), Henry Giroux (1992, 2001), Joe
Kincheloe (2001, 2004), and Peter McLaren (1989, 2000) for this ongo-
ing work of theoretical conceptualization, pedagogical application, and
systematic reflection; that is, the praxis of CMSS. Based on this original,
and now growing and developing work, we will relate how CMSS cur-
rently resonates with us.
Based on this conceptualization, attempted implementation, and

now reflection, CMSS to us is a student/community-based radical peda-
gogical approach that strives for the fomentation of social justice by and
among students, community members and activists, teachers, adminis-
trators, and our society at large via the social studies and history. Here we
draw TEP students (and would have them draw on their students) to the
“alternative” social studies and history content of Noam Chomsky
(1999), James Loewen (1995), Howard Zinn (2002, 2003), and folks like
our sisters and brothers at Rethinking Schools (www.rethinkingschools.
org) and the Rouge Forum (www.rougeforum.org). This historic “recla-
mation” is steeped in uncovering myths and misperceptions. Teachers
and students who engage in Critical Multicultural Social Studies can bet-
ter understand their own place in connection to history, to economics, to
contemporary issues, and to popular culture. If students have the oppor-
tunity to make connections to their own lives and situatedness within
structures of power, then they can potentially claim—and, indeed,
reclaim—their own learning. They might not only reclaim their history,
but they might also find the power to act and change their own lives,
both individually and collectively.
CMSS asks us to foster an understanding of how we can assist students
in understanding the notion of domination as it exists in the world today. It
means making the curriculum active, bringing it to life, and realizing our
potential to be social/pedagogical agents struggling for justice and equity.
As the title of a recent book by Howard Zinn (2002)—and a documentary
based on Zinn’s life and work (see, www.howardzinn.org)—reminds us,
“You can’t be neutral in a moving train.” Accordingly, especially as CMSS
pedagogues, we have to recognize and be honest about our politics, our cul-
tural backgrounds, and our understandings of the worlds we live in (both to
ourselves and our students). We need to be active participants within peda-
gogical contexts, creating spaces of and for social justice. This redefines, we
think, the notion of, “Read the chapter, answer the questions at the end of
the chapter, and stay away from my desk” that some social studies (and
other) pedagogues (even university professors!) sometimes fall into. CMSS
asks us to redefine our relationships with our students—or, actually, to cre-
ate relationships with our students; positive, trustful and intellectual ones.
Critical Multicultural Social Studies asks us to deal with “controver-
sial” themes with our students, to engage them via these affirmative rela-
tionships, and to take action around student/community-identified and
student/community-defined issues of inequality, inequity, and injustice.
And we do this through an honest, open, and unapologetic analysis of is-
sues of ethnicity, class, gender, sexuality, etc., as these issues pertain to
our lives. When we reflect on critical and multicultural approaches to the
social studies, we think about ways to find contemporary examples (not
just from the past, which is so common in the social studies) and mo-
ments of oppression within the community; having students link with
that, and then become involved in actually transforming society through
exploring those instances of oppression.
The government—at the federal, state, local, and school district
levels—is often placed (or places itself) as the omniscient arbiter of
“truth” (content) and sanctifier of acceptable pedagogical processes.
Thus, certain content is allowed. For example, Thomas Jefferson was
swell and helped form our republic; and this republic was founded on
principles that many have tried to emulate over the past 230 years. And
other content is not allowed. For example, Thomas Jefferson was a
pedophile and rapist. Certain methodologies, in terms of pedagogy, are
allowed. For example, No Child Left Behind (NCLB) puts an emphasis
on memorization, pretesting, testing, and post-testing (high-stakes,
norm-referenced testing, no less, see Ross, 2004). Yet other pedagogical
methodologies and ideologies are not. For example, connective, con-
structivist, humanist, or transformative approaches to the teaching and
learning enterprise are most usually a no-no and unacceptable. From a
CMSS perspective, it is vital that teachers and students use their own au-
thority and freedom in the classroom, as Hinchey (2004) reminds us, to
find their own truths, instead of having them dictated from on high.
Due to content and pedagogy filters like NCLB, teachers are often
given no other option than to use the white-washed, racist, sexist, classist,
homophobic, and just plain inaccurate, textbooks (Apple, 1990; Loewen,
1995). So given this, what might a pedagogue inspired by Critical Multi-
cultural Social Studies do, beyond sitting on a district textbook commit-
tee in order to vote for one of three poor choices predetermined by big
publishing? How might we work with an inaccurate, closed, hegemo-
nized, damaging curricular content, if there is no way to avoid doing so?
Well, we use critical pedagogy. We critique. And we turn to our students
and our school communities.
As Peter McLaren said during a lecture at UCLA during the 1990s, “A
critical pedagogue can use any text, any content as a starting point. For
the text or content is not the key, the critique is.” And he was right. Both
critical pedagogy and CMSS espouse a form of radical/revolutionary cri-
tique, a way for students (students/teachers) and teachers (teachers/
students) (Freire, 1970) to analyze and deconstruct dominant hegemonic
forms within a framework of social justice and equity, then to collectively
construct a counter-hegemony that creates a critical/revolutionary space
where students, teachers, and communities can continue to work and
challenge hegemony and oppressive forms and relations. And can we find
ways to deconstruct and critique these white-washed, milk toast, bias-
laden, pabulum-filled textbooks? And then reconstruct counter-hege-
monic ways of reading our “words and worlds” (Freire & Macedo, 1985)
and lived realities? Such that we align ourselves locally, regionally,
nationally, and internationally, with struggles for social justice? Sure
we can; even in the age of NCLB, Baby Bush, perpetual war, and happy-
go-lucky, world-stomping, neo-liberalism. As a matter of fact, we are
obliged to. We need more mosh pits, more Burning Man, more hip-
hop, more raves, more Seattles, more sk8ers, and more of what the punk
band Ajogún called, “that ol’ moon stompin’”; now that’s what we call
counter-hegemony.
The other way to deal with biased and largely meaningless textbooks
is to turn directly to students, their parents, and the community for con-
tent. For the various state “benchmarks” and “standards” that teachers
are often now “required” to follow under NCLB—as they slog through
the official textbooks of their district—are vague and general have also
gone through a similar dumbing-down, lowest common denominator,
white/male/wealthy/straight-ifying process. And the end result is that
they are not only often biased and ill-conceived, but also so wildly vague
and general that it does not take a rocket scientist to be able to creatively
fit more progressive content under them; content that comes from stu-
dents, parents, and school communities—more authentic, connected,
meaningful content that can be a starting point from which to begin dis-
cussions of oppression, hegemony, social justice, and counter-hegemony.
The proposal is simple. Turn hegemonic textbooks against them-
selves and valorize and incorporate the cultural capital, histories, and wis-
dom of our students into our curricula (all the while being creative and
subversive with the wishy-washy state standards toward the more impor-
tant goal of making schooling, and our students’ years in school, mean-
ingful and empowering). In this way, we can offer students multiple
perspectives via our curricular content. We can use these standardized
textbooks if strategically necessary; if only to demonstrate to students how
easy it is to pass off one perspective as the only perspective. We can guide
our students in learning research skills using the Web (www.gnn.org or
www.rougeforum.org), alternative media (Basta ya!, Democracy Now,
Pacifica), brick-and-mortar and virtual libraries and universities, and men-
tor them in the fine (and learnable) art of critique. They are already
halfway there. Our students are wonderful bullshit detectors. They know
what rings “true” and what stinks. They can spot a racist or homophobic
teacher at a hundred yards—and we need to be honest with ourselves,
there are racists and homophobes among our ranks. And they know we
are probably in Iraq for the oil. Ask ’em. And they are fine nascent intel-
lectuals in development. They, and their communities, are up to this task.
CMSS pedagogues need just to facilitate and encourage this work and
these kinds of classroom communities for social justice.
Toward a Marxist CMSS
Based on the discussion above of how today’s Marxist educators are talk-
ing about the “essence” of capitalism—that is, the social production of
value and commodities—we call for a Marxist CMSS to go beyond de-
scribing the consequences of capitalism and join the struggle against the
labor-capital relation. In other words, we must also go beyond arguing for
a simple redistribution of wealth and the freeing of work from the con-
straints of capital, and instead work against the commodification of
human labor-power. That is, a Marxist CMSS must work to completely de-
stroy the capital relation (Hudis, 2000). In elaborating this, let’s return
for a moment to the description of today’s social studies instruction; the
reality of what is. We believe this would be a useful place of departure for
the outlining of a possible Marxist Critical Multicultural Social Studies.
In a discussion of today’s social studies, Marc (Pruyn, 2003) cites the
official “primary purpose” of the social studies offered by the National
Council for the Social Studies (NCSS): “To help . . . young people de-
velop the ability to make informed and reasoned decisions for the public
good as citizens of a culturally diverse, democratic society in an interde-
pendent world.” Marc argues that “many in the criticalist tradition of so-
cial education . . . would consider [this definition] traditional, even
‘conservative’” (p. 5, from original manuscript). As a criticalist who draws
inspiration and analytical tools from both Marxism and anarchism,
Pruyn (2003) makes the case that the social studies should not just de-
velop “informed citizens” but should also foster the development of “cul-
tural/political social activists who are encouraged to manifest their
beliefs with the ultimate goal of fighting oppression and furthering social
justice” (p. 5, ibid).
E. Wayne Ross (2000; chapter 17 in this volume) describes the social
studies taught today throughout the U.S. public school system as domi-
nated by “Traditional Social Studies Instruction” (TSSI), which he argues
is based on such characteristics as memorizing disconnected facts,
preparing students for standardized tests, treating learners as passive,
normalizing white, middle-class culture and putting teachers at the cen-
ter of learning. As a result, Ross argues that because of conservative
teacher education programs, the institutional pressures schools place on
teachers, and the traditional curriculum, the social studies tend to teach
a spectator-oriented conception of democracy; one that helps to create
“spectator citizens” unequipped to participate actively in a democracy
(p. 55). This description of TSSI does not even foster the development of
“informed citizens” as put forth by the NCSS.
Similarly, in Getting Beyond the Facts (2001), Joe Kincheloe argues that
the current body of research on the social studies suggests that classroom
instruction is more geared to controlling student actions than engaging

them in real learning (p. 17). Both students and teachers of the social
studies thus tend to demonstrate a lack of interest in the topic. In his in-
fluential text Lies My Teacher Told Me (1995), James Loewen reports that
the social studies has consistently been identified by students as the most
boring subject in school, despite the fact that students tend to do better
in it than in other subjects. It is unique, argues Loewen, in that college
and university professors agree that the more high school classes stu-
dents have had in social studies, the more misinformed they become
about history, economics, and the like. Because social studies is often
presented from the distorted perspective of the ruling class, which com-
monly discounts the struggles of the poor, girls/women, people of color
and queers, more oppressed students, as one might expect, tend to do
worse academically than less oppressed students. For example, students
of color tend to do worse than white students in the social studies
(Loewen, 1995). Moreover, based on Loewen’s analysis of U.S. high
school history textbooks, the social studies tends to present social prob-
lems as already solved or about to be solved. Those problems are thus
predictable; they are flooded with blind, over-optimistic patriotism; and
they are anything but dialectical. In sum, U.S. history textbooks tend to
keep students blind to the dialectical nature of history. And their main
message is to “be good” and not question authority, because capitalism,
although slightly imperfect, is the only viable economic system the world
always has and will ever have to offer (so goes the official line).
The notion that capitalism is our only option is the perspective of cap-
italists themselves, not the perspective of the working class. What is more,
today’s TSSI serves the interests of maintaining the labor-capital relation
by striving to engender a citizenry not only able, but also willing, to work
as wage laborers, therefore producing that which oppresses us: capital.
And capital does so by exploiting every other form of oppression, where
and whenever possible—racism, sexism, linguisism, homophobia—in a
classic divide and conquer tactic. Where, then, can we, the educational
left, turn for ideas about how to combat the root causes of capitalism, cap-
italist oppression, and other forms of authority and oppression that serve
capital? The critical social studies educators cited herein argue for a more
equal distribution of wealth and the development of an informed citi-
zenry capable of actively participating in a democracy. For example, Ross
(2000), arguing against the development of passive citizens through TSSI,
holds that “citizens should have the opportunity to inform themselves;
take part in inquiry, discussion and policy formation; and advance their
ideas through political action” (p. 55).
In building on Ross, a Marxist CMSS would also work to foster the
development of a citizenry not only able to engage in debate and inquiry
for social justice, but against the labor-capital relation in particular, as

well as all the subsequent, dependent, and ancillary forms of oppression
and authority that serve capital. That is, it would work to empower a citi-
zenry aware of the intricate workings of capitalism and their particular lo-
cation within the production process of value. To reiterate, Gibson
(2000), for example, argues that a Marxist social studies should ask ques-
tions such as: “Where [does] value come from? What are the social rela-
tions that rise from struggles over value?” (p. 14). Gibson states that these
are key economic questions that have been erased by capital’s influence
over the social studies. These and other questions would play a funda-
mental role in the development of a more radically/progressively Marx-
ist social studies that recognizes both our differences (multiculturalism),
how these differences are purposefully exploited, and how we might deal
with this in our pedagogical search for economic/social justice and eq-
uity (critical pedagogy); that is, we call on our sister and brother peda-
gogues to consider a Marxist Critical Multicultural Social Studies.
Notes
1. Elements of this chapter appeared in Curry Malott’s “Karl Marx, Radical
Education and Peter McLaren: Implications for the Social Studies” in Teaching
Peter McLaren: Paths of Dissent, edited by Marc Pruyn and Luis Charles-Huerta
(Peter Lang, 2005) and will appear in “Critical Multicultural Social Studies: A Di-
alogue from the Borderlands” by The Borderlands Collective for Social Justice in
Race, Ethnicity and Education: Principles of Multicultural Education, edited by Valerie
Ooka Pang (Praeger, 2006).
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CHAPTER 9
GENDER AND SOCIAL EDUCATION

WHAT’S THE PROBLEM?
Margaret Smith Crocco
Introduction
In addressing the topic of gender and social education for the third edi-
tion of this book, I may encounter some readers who wonder: “What’s the
problem? Women have made enormous gains over the last forty years in
American society.” And, indeed, this is true: Using just one measure of
women’s educational achievement, college attendance, as an example of
women’s progress, we find that between 1970 and 2001, “women went
from being the minority to the majority of the U.S. undergraduate popu-
lation, increasing their representation from 42 percent to 56 percent of
undergraduates” (Freeman, 2004, as quoted in Peter & Horn, 2005, p. 1).
Women’s gains in higher education have been so dramatic that the
American Council on Education (King, 2000) has raised the question:
“Are male students at a disadvantage?” Although experts consistently
note the discrepancies in educational experiences between men and
women of different races and classes, the overall picture in the post-
secondary arena remains one of female achievement.
Looking at K–12 education yields similar results. In language arts,
for example, girls start school at the same level if not ahead of boys (Free-
man, 2004). Girls are less likely to be held back a grade, drop out, con-
front serious problems, or engage in risk-taking behaviors in and out of
the classroom. Girls do better with reading and writing, and only slightly
less well in math and science (Freeman, 2004). Girls participate at a
higher rate in extracurricular activities, except for athletics, and voice
higher educational aspirations than boys (Freeman, 2004).
171
172 Margaret Smith Crocco
Such data may suggest that educational issues related to gender affect
more male than female students these days. In fact, over the last decade a
cottage industry has arisen concerning the “problems with boys” (Pollack,
1998; Garbarino, 1999; Kindlon, 1999; Hoff-Sommers, 2000). At the post-
secondary level, critics of affirmative action and Title IX have asserted that
universities should address the problems with men’s enrollment and re-
tention rather than devoting more resources to women in higher educa-
tion (Glazer-Raymo, forthcoming). Undoubtedly, problems of gender can
be found with both female as well as male performance in education. For
example, women continue to lag well behind men in earning doctorates in
computer science, physics, and engineering. Outside the United States, a
host of other issues arise related to women’s education.
In this chapter, I explore several ways of thinking about the contem-
porary relevance of gender to social education. Gender is the social con-
struction of differences that are rooted in sex but are elaborated by
cultures into systems of identity and relationship concerning what it
means to be a man or a woman. As such, these systems are historically as
well as culturally contingent. Social education refers to the ways in which
societies have constructed, lived out, and transmitted their understand-
ings of social relations and the implications of these understandings for
citizenship education (Crocco, 1999, p. 1). One critical form of social ed-
ucation in the modern United States has been social studies.
In considering this topic, I draw on Carol Lee Bacchi’s (1999)
“What’s the Problem?” approach in order to focus on the challenges so-
cial educators face regarding gender in an era of globalization, a topic
about which I have written previously (Crocco, 2005; Crocco & Cramer,
2004; Patel & Crocco, 2003; Asher & Crocco, 2001; Crocco, 2000). I also
draw upon Joseph Schwab’s (1978) four “commonplaces of schooling”—
subject matter, learners, teachers, and milieu or context—to provide a
framework for considering gender and social education systematically
but they do not contradict the notion that social education occurs out-
side schools. These commonplaces also reinforce the notion that gender
and social education intersect in a variety of ways. Focusing on globaliza-
tion should not be read as implying that all issues of gender have been
resolved in the United States but simply places the United States within
the context of a rapidly changing world, one in which national bound-
aries are not what they used to be.
Despite women’s gains over the last several decades, the place of gen-
der within social education continues to reflect the stubborn persistence
of patriarchy worldwide. Gerda Lerner (1986) defines patriarchy as the
subordination of women, an intellectual and social system in which
women collude with men in socializing new generations to the view that
such subordination is “natural” and, in some societies, seen as theologi-
Gender and Social Education 173
cally ordained. In parts of the world where women’s rights have gained
ground, patriarchy has become an increasingly subtle set of attitudes and
practices; nevertheless, it persists. In the United States, for example, pa-
triarchy remains highly salient to legal reasoning (e.g., rape and domes-
tic violence laws, law enforcement, and judicial reasoning, Buzawa &
Buzawa, 2002) as well as economic issues such as taxation and social se-
curity (see Kessler-Harris, 2001), among other topics. As I shall argue,
teaching forms of “systemic seeing” as part of social education is critical
to the movement to overcome patriarchal norms in a society.
Worldwide, feminist scholars seek to increase “gender equity,” one
definition of which is: “to be fair and just toward both men and women,
to show preference to neither, and concern for both” (Klein, Ortman, &
Friedman, 2002). Some would go further, stipulating that gender equity
is not just a matter of opening doors but of ensuring that all students are
capable of walking through those doors. Likewise, many would argue
that making the structures in which students learn more hospitable to
both women and men is also necessary. Achieving these goals involves ac-
tive interventions requiring political, social, psychological, and institu-
tional change (Koch, Irby, Brown, 2002, p. 186–187). Doing this in a
manner that includes the world’s women is a formidable task, to be sure.
What’s the Problem?

Bacchi (1999) notes that “Any description of an issue or a ‘problem’ is an
interpretation, and interpretations involve judgment and choices” (p. 1).
In the case of gender, construction of the “problem” is critical in facilitat-
ing creation of answers, as we shall see. Schwab’s work (1978) provides a
framework for considering the various venues, emphases, and agents that
are at play in assessing the intersections of gender and social education.
Schwab’s (1978) four commonplaces of schooling have enjoyed high
visibility over the last thirty years. Although he wrote about these com-
monplaces in terms of curriculum development, they have proved useful
to other domains. In this case, they serve as a narrative frame for consid-
ering the multiple intersections of gender and social education, as they
occur in and beyond K–12 schooling.
Likewise, Bacchi (1999) designed her approach for policy arenas,
but it has utility beyond policy making. She writes that the “guiding
premise” of her approach is that: “every policy proposal contains within
it an explicit or implicit diagnosis of the ‘problem’”:
Analyses of problems rest on their representations: what is the ‘problem’

represented to be; what presuppositions are implied or taken for
granted in the problem representation which is offered; and what effects
are connected to this representation of the ‘problem’? . . . The focus on

interpretations or representations means a focus on discourse, defined
here as the language, concepts and categories employed to frame an
issue. (p. 2)
To talk about the “representation” of problems as a matter of dis-

course is not to diminish their reality. Indeed, Bacchi draws on Fou-
cault’s (1977) theory of discourses as practices, which form and frame
the objects spoken about, thus delimiting the possibilities for analysis
and, indeed, for thought (Bacchi, 1999, p. 41; see also Ball, 1990, 17–18).
Bacchi (1999) argues, along with other post-structuralist theorists, that
discourses have material effects. She identifies these as: (1) the constitu-
tion of subjects and subjectivities; (2) the channeling of what can be said
and conceived; and (3) the “lived effects” of real bodies and real people
of certain social constructions (pp. 45–46; see also, Bordo, 1993). Bacchi
examines pay equity, discrimination, education policy, child-care policy,
abortion, domestic violence, and sexual harassment. Moreover, she argues
that her approach facilitates thinking systemically rather than discretely
about issues, an attraction for using it with Schwab in this context. Think-
ing systemically pushes analysis toward recognition of the varied intercon-
nections between gender and social education and of the problems that
remain unaddressed or even unacknowledged due to the ways in which
they get discussed. In her chapter on education policy, for example, Bac-
chi (1999, p. 113) asks whether the problem of girls in education should
be framed as “access or discrimination”? Answering this question depends,
Bacchi argues, on one’s feminist positionality and views on schooling.
Across academic life, a variety of feminist positionalities can be iden-
tified. Lynda Stone’s book (1994), The Education Feminism Reader, offers an
excellent introduction to the varieties of feminism within education. A
few examples from this array will clarify the range of positions. Liberal
feminists argue that gender issues in education stem from the need to
close gaps between male and female achievement in different areas. Ma-
ternalist or care-oriented feminists argue that women bring distinctive
traits to social interactions that may be jeopardized if women create lives
that mimic men’s. They may argue that schools need to become more car-
ing institutions, informed by women’s ways of knowing, being, and doing.
Feminists of color have challenged feminism as “essentialist” by defining
women’s problems in a narrow fashion, that is, in sync with white, middle-
class culture, and they substitute “womanism” for “feminism” to empha-
size the differences between their concerns and those of traditional
feminism. Womanists note the many problems of males of color in edu-
cation these days and highlight the inextricable force of racism and sex-
ism for women of color. Post-structuralist and post-modernist feminists
consider the categories of “male” and “female” to be socially constructed

binaries whose boundaries are more fluid than stable. They question
whether traditional concerns with “equity” or “access” remain useful,
given how thoroughly “feminized” education has become, and argue that
class, race, and sexuality must be analyzed simultaneously in considering
issues of marginalization and oppression.
In Bacchi’s chapter on girls and education, she notes marked
changes in how the “problem” has been defined over the last thirty years.
During the seventies and eighties, feminists focused on reforms needed to
address girls’ problems in school, in particular, differential scores on stan-
dardized tests, placement in selective classes and educational institutions;
the need for elimination of sexist language in textbooks; and expansion
of opportunities for leadership, among others. By the eighties, feminists
shifted attention away from sexism to advocacy of gender neutral solu-
tions to dealing with girls’ problems to calling for positive portrayals
of “female culture.” By the 1990s, a “new discursive representation”
emerged, which constructed men “as the victims of reforms benefiting
women” (1999, p. 125). Increasingly, Bacchi (1999) writes, the “assump-
tion is that the battle for ‘girls’ has been won, that ‘girls’ have had their
day, and now it is time to turn attention and resources to boys” (p. 125).
This shifting landscape of discourse related to the “problem” of gen-
der in education provides context for this chapter. In the following sec-
tions, I apply Bacchi’s steps for problem analysis to gender and social
education, asking:
• What is the problem of gender represented to be within social

education?
• What assumptions underlie this representation?
• What effects are produced by this representation? How are sub-
jects constituted within it? What is likely to change? What is likely
to stay the same? Who is likely to benefit from this representation?
• What is left unproblematic in this representation?
• How would “responses” differ if the “problem” were represented
differently? (p. 12–13).
What Is the Problem of Gender in Social Education?

Recent reviews of gender in the social studies literature (Hahn,
Bernard-Powers, Crocco, & Woyshner, forthcoming; Crocco, 2006) in-
dicate that social studies scholars and students continue to do work on
gender, although its visibility in the field’s most prestigious publica-
tions, Theory and Research in Social Education and Social Education, is low.
How we assess this lack of visibility depends, in part, on the prominence
of gender throughout educational research. Feminists differ about

whether feminist research is on the rise or decline in the academy in
general and education in particular (see, for example, Stromquist,
2001; Stambach & David, 2005). Some authors (Campbell, 2002) cite
an increasing number of presentations on gender at the annual meet-
ings of the American Educational Research Association over the last fif-
teen years, positive changes in the ways in which questions are framed
within this research (that is, less emphasis on female “deficits”), and
the rise of masculinity studies within education (p. 31). Other scholars
(Koch, Irby, & Brown, 2002) note that in heavily male fields such as ed-
ucational administration women are still advised not to select topics
dealing with gender for dissertations or as primary research foci
because gender is seen as too narrow (p. 182). Zittleman and Sadker
(2003) have examined the sparse treatment of gender in teacher edu-
cation textbooks, including best sellers in social studies, and found the
coverage of gender miniscule. Undoubtedly, these contextual factors
contribute to explaining gender’s lack of attention in social studies re-
search. Other reasons surely include the draw of topics such as multi-
culturalism, which in theory includes gender but in practice generally
does not, and of areas where research dollars are at stake, such as his-
tory education and technology. Finally, preoccupation with narrow,
measurable outcomes due to the so-called “No Child Left Behind” leg-
islation, national and state curriculum standards, and high-stakes test-
ing mandated by the states clearly play a role.
What Is the Problem of Gender Represented to Be Within Social Education?

Attention to gender in social education has largely been viewed as a matter
of redressing past imbalances in the treatment of women—in textbooks,
curriculum frameworks, historiography, and leadership roles in the field,
such as the National Council for the Social Studies, the College and Uni-
versity Faculty Assembly, and Theory and Research in Social Education. Most
social educators would probably argue that slow, incremental progress has
been made over the last twenty years in these domains. Education has, in
fact, become thoroughly feminized: Most teachers are women; at the post-
secondary level, most teacher educators are women. This is not to imply
that equity has been fully achieved, only that women are not as invisible as
they once were (Crocco, 2004) or that we should expect all women to sup-
port feminist ends in education. Interestingly, little ink has been used on
the shortage of men as teachers in K–12 classrooms, especially the lower
grades, although certainly this is a gender problem of a masculine sort.
The problem of the world’s women remains one largely unexplored
in the social studies literature. Looking beyond social studies, however,
representations of problems faced by the world’s women can be found

in numerous places. For example, “social educators” such as the United
Nations (www.un.org/womenwatch) and some nongovernmental organi-
zations (e.g., Amnesty International, http://www.amnesty.org/) have
identified women’s status in many parts of the world as a problem, espe-
cially in terms of the following issues: (1) governance, peace, and security;
(2) bodily integrity, especially domestic violence as well as HIV/AIDS;
(3) poverty and the lack of economic autonomy; and (4) human rights.
Numerous scholars from a variety of disciplines have investigated the
problems of women worldwide. Among those whose work is pertinent to
social education are: Martha Nussbaum (1999), who has written widely on
women and human rights; Betty Reardon (1993), on women, peace, and
international security; Seyla Benhabib (2002), on women, multicultural-
ism, and democratic citizenship; Cynthia Enloe (2000), on women and in-
ternational politics; Chila Bulbeck (1998), on women, post-colonialism,
and Western feminisms; and Arlie Hochshild and Barbara Ehrenreich
(2004), on women in the new global economy. Along with the UN,
Amnesty International, and other organizations, this sample represents
only a few of the possibilities for social educators interested in conceptu-
alizing the “problem” of women of the world for their classrooms.
According to the United Nations, the problem, as painted with the
broadest brushstrokes, is as follows:
On a regional level, girls and boys have achieved equal access to primary
education, except in some parts of Africa, in particular sub-Saharan Africa,
and Central Asia, where access to education facilities is still inadequate.
Progress has been made in secondary education, where equal access of
girls and boys has been achieved in some countries. Enrollment of girls
and women in tertiary education has increased considerably. In many
countries, private schools have also played an important complementary
role in improving access to education at all levels. Yet . . . approximately
100 million children, including at least 60 million girls, are without access
to primary schooling and more than two thirds of the world’s 960 million
illiterate adults are women. The high rate of illiteracy prevailing in most
developing countries, in particular in sub-Saharan Africa and some Arab
States, remains a severe impediment to the advancement of women and
to development.
Discrimination in girls’ access to education persists in many areas,
owing to customary attitudes, early marriages and pregnancies, inade-
quate and gender-biased teaching and educational materials, sexual ha-
rassment and lack of adequate and physically and otherwise accessible
schooling facilities. Girls undertake heavy domestic work at a very early
age. Girls and young women are expected to manage both educational
and domestic responsibilities, often resulting in poor scholastic perfor-
mance and early drop-out from the educational system. This has long-
lasting consequences for all aspects of women’s lives. http://www.un.

org/womenwatch/daw/beijing/platform/educa.htm, (Paragraphs 69 &
70, accessed on 5.24.05)
From the perspective of social educators working within the United

States, the problems just described may relate chiefly to subject matter.
For those working outside the United States, especially in the regions
highlighted above, the problems are not matters to be taught but chal-
lenges to be overcome—aspects of lived experience, for learners (cf:
Vavrus, 2004), teachers, and their milieu.
Globalization has meant that problems found in distant lands can
become local problems in fairly short order. Since passage of the Immi-
gration Act of 1965, the United States has experienced unprecedented
waves of immigration from areas outside its traditional national feeders.
The same has been true of Western Europe and to a lesser extent other
parts of the developed world. In each case, nations have struggled with
problems related to the integration of women from traditional cultures
into their societies. In this vein, readers are reminded of the recent con-
flicts in France over the veiling of school girls. Educational policy mak-
ers, sociologists, and anthropologists such as Laurie Olsen (1998) have
written about the challenges of integrating immigrant girls from tradi-
tional cultures into American schools, where the gender norms are quite
different from those of the country of origin. A few social studies educa-
tors have explored this topic, including Xue Lan Rong and M. Gail
Hickey (1998), in a special issue of Social Education and Barbara Cruz
(2003), who has written about bilingual approaches to teaching social
studies. Still, social educators have had little to say on gender and the
new immigration.
Increasingly, therefore, the problems of the world’s women are ones
that appear within U.S. borders. Awatif Elnour and Khadar Bashir-Ali
(2003), two teachers working in Columbus, Ohio, have written about the
problems experienced by their female Somalian students. These four-
teen- and fifteen-year old young women must do a significant amount of
housework and child care for their families. Their responsibilities un-
dermine their aspirations for education and prospects for graduating
from high school. Stan Karp (1996/1997), a New Jersey teacher, has writ-
ten about the quandary he faced when his Bengali student voiced her
concern about the prospects of an arranged marriage.
Research, commentary, or guidance for social educators faced with
these dilemmas (see also Crocco, 2005) has not been very visible in the so-
cial studies. Most urgently, teachers need to develop cross-cultural com-
petencies (Asher & Crocco, 2001) that will support them in dealing with
young women, and young men, from immigrant families with radically
different traditions and gender expectations for their offspring. Teachers
may be called upon, as Karp was, to help female students navigate the dif-
ferent expectations for U.S. women from their traditional cultures. As El-
nour and Bashir-Ali suggest, respect for traditional cultures is necessary,
but what do teachers do when these norms violate a teacher’s commit-
ment to equity in education for both genders? Gaining such cross-cultural
competence, especially regarding women, poses challenges for social ed-
ucators when so little research and writing addresses this issue.
In a report on “Concepts and Trends in Global Education,” Sutton
and Hutton (2001 note:
One might assume that the research regarding the dynamics of teach-
ers and teacher education in the field of global education would be ex-
tensive. After all, both are absolutely critical to the development of a
relevant and sustained global perspective in education. Surprisingly,
however, this is not the case. The research is limited and the re-
searchers are few. (2001, p. 3)
The authors note the contributions of Merry Merryfield, Angene

Wilson, and Bill Gaudelli, among others to global education. Unfortu-
nately, gender has not been a prominent emphasis in the global educa-
tion literature of social studies. Moreover, the relatively low profile of
global education generally within social education provides further cause
for concern. In fact, a look at the high school course requirements across
the fifty states offers little support for the notion that global education
itself is seen as an urgent matter. Only twenty-eight states demand com-
pletion of a course in World History (not necessarily the same as global
studies). Those states do, however, include New York, California, and
Texas, which graduate the largest cohorts of students in the nation. The
National Assessment of Educational Progress reports that in 1998 slightly
more than 66% of all American students took a secondary level course in
World History (Lintvedt, 2003). This is not to say that the other twenty-
two states do not teach any global history or global studies, just that they
leave the matter to local school districts to decide (Education Commis-
sion of the States, 2002). Thus, lack of attention to global education may
not be as pronounced a problem as it seems, but the uncertain nature of
this situation in light of the globalization that is upon us surely demands
a more concerted response.
Given this state of affairs, it is perhaps not surprising that the problem
of women worldwide has not found greater visibility within social studies.
Further evidence for its low status came with publication of James A.
Banks’ important work, Diversity and Citizenship Education (2004), which was
underwritten by the Rockefeller Foundation. This book of close to 500
pages contains only one brief index entry for “gender” and three for
“women.” Although this book offers evidence that “past cleavages between
multicultural and global educators are being bridged (Sutton & Hutton,
2001, p. 2), the cleavages between feminism and multiculturalism and fem-
inism and global education remain intact.
In sum, the fundamental problem of gender and social education is
its invisibility, particularly that of women of the world. Using any of
Schwab’s vantage points leads to virtually the same conclusion: Women
of the world have only barely been conceived as problems in terms of
learners and teachers, milieu, and subject matter. When and if women of
the world make an appearance as a problem for social education, it has
been in terms of their management within American classrooms and as
subject matter dealing with the oppressive traditions of cultures outside
the United States. Only rarely have women from other countries been
seen as offering a model from which American women might learn.
Feminist post-colonial writers (e.g., Anzaldua, 1987; Trinh, 1989;
Mohanty, 1988; Mohanty, Russo, & Torres 1991, Alexander & Mohanty,
1997, Bulbeck 1998, Narayan & Harding, 2000) have commented on the
stereotyping and essentializing found in Western portrayals of the
world’s women, which typically have reduced women, especially from the
“third world” to stock characters defined exclusively by their oppression.
Global educator Merry Merryfield (2001) suggests in “Moving the cen-
ter of global education: From imperial world views that divide the world
to double consciousness, contrapuntal pedagogy, hybridity, and cross-
cultural competence” that social educators must pay heed to the post-
colonial legacy of Edward Said (1978, 1993) and Gayatri Chakravorti
Spivak (1987) among others. Merryfield and Subedi (2001) suggest the
need for “decolonizing the mind for world-centered global education.”
In fact, Alexander and Mohanty (1997) claim that:
Decolonization has a fundamentally pedagogical dimension—an im-

perative to understand, to reflect on, and to transform relations of ob-
jectification and dehumanization, and to pass this knowledge along to
future generations. (p. xxviii–xxix)
Part of this decolonization process will need to be divestiture of patri-

archal notions about women’s relative lack of importance to globalization,
global education, and the world’s future. Merryfield and Subedi (2003)
have called on social educators to bring women more centrally into dia-
logue about global education in schools and teacher preparation programs:
Global educators share a commitment to moving beyond Eurocentric

perspectives to teach the voices, experiences, ideas, and worldviews of
women in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Middle East and of peo-
ple of color in the United States. Some call this inclusion “moving the
center” from a curriculum centered on American and European world-
views to a curriculum that is inclusive of worldviews of the majority of

the world’s peoples. (p. 10)
As their global education framework for teaching about the world’s

women unfolds, Merryfield and Subedi (2003) also acknowledge the many
factors that inhibit teachers from heeding this mandate: lack of good infor-
mation; lack of insider knowledge; lack of understanding of the politics of
knowledge and language; lack of understanding of people’s experiences
with oppression; and lack of equal-power relationships with people differ-
ent from themselves (p. 12). I would add that lingering patriarchal, sexist
attitudes, especially concerning what knowledge is of most worth to the
field of social education (Minnich, 2004), contributes to these problems.
What Assumptions Underlie This Representation?

Social studies is a field that has been slow to engage new theories and
topics (Crocco, 2004; Segal, 2004). As we have seen, social studies has
also fallen prey to pressures from federal and state mandates, none of
which encourage increased interest in women’s issues, and to the
scrutiny of right wing critics to a degree not experienced by other school
subjects (Crocco, 2005).
As we have seen, a common assumption within social education may
be that problems related to women have little social or cultural value or
that problems related to equity for women of the world are the only
ones worth teaching and learning. The former involves normative as-
sumptions about which knowledge is of most worth. Liberal feminists
and post-structural feminists differ on a number of points concerning
the need to transform curriculum. Liberal feminists are interested
chiefly in access and opportunity. The latter assumption is an under-
standable, although partial, view. Post-structuralist feminists ask that
new questions be asked of curriculum leading to a more thorough trans-
formation of what is taught.
Martha Nussbaum (1999) has described the challenges faced by
women and the responses these problems should call forth from all of us:
The situation of women in the contemporary world calls urgently for

moral standtaking. Women, a majority of the world’s population, re-
ceive only a small proportion of its opportunities and benefits . . . in no
country in the world is women’s quality of life equal to that of men, ac-
cording to a complex measure that includes life expectancy, educa-
tional attainment, and GDP per capita (p. 31).
Women face enormous social, political, and economic problems in

the developed and developing world. The gender disparities Nussbaum
describes are particularly pronounced in, for example and perhaps sur-
prisingly, Spain and Japan. Among developing nations, women in South
Asia and the Arab states have few opportunities to participate in paid
labor; when they are employed they face widespread wage discrimination
in a restricted range of jobs and generally must contend with the burden
of the “double day,” or long hours of housework after a long day’s work.
Two-thirds of the world’s women are illiterate; they lag significantly be-
hind men in access to higher education. Women remain unable to vote
in certain countries such as Saudi Arabia and make up only a small pro-
portion of the world’s governmental representatives (Nussbaum, 1999,
p. 31). All these are real problems.
Female genital mutilation, arranged marriages, and the veil often
serve as tropes for all there is to know about women outside the United
States. In short, the world’s women get defined by their limitations and
oppressions rather than by their strengths and capabilities (Asher &
Crocco, 2001; Asher, 2003). In preparing the special edition on “Women
of the World” for Social Education, Merry Merryfield and I solicited arti-
cles dealing with resistance to women’s subordination (Rierson & Duty,
2003; Pantziara, 2003; Patel & Crocco, 2003) as well as those addressing
the ways in which women, their lives, and literature could be portrayed
positively in the social studies curriculum (Doughty, 2003; Libresco &
Wolfe, 2003; Reese, 2003; Tyson & Hinton-Johnson, 2003).
In the United States, many women may assume that problems re-
lated to patriarchy have largely been resolved. To take just one counter-
example, however, violence continues to plague many women and girls
in the United States as well as around the world (see Amnesty Interna-
tional’s highlighting of these problems on their Web site http://web.
amnesty.org/actforwomen/index-eng). Violence is also centrally impli-
cated in the problems American boys experience with schooling, tied up,
as they often are, with dysfunctional images of manhood and power in
American society (see, for example, the articles on boys in the Jossey-Bass
Reader on Gender in Education, 2002).
Social educators may also assume that the incidence of problems re-
lated to violence in schools is low, despite the work of Nan Stein (1994)
and Judith Brandenburg (1997) who have written about the pervasive
problem of sexual harassment in American education: Fully 80% of
school age girls report that they have experienced some form of sexual
harassment (Sadker, 2000, p. 81). The educational ramifications of such
problems run deep: Jenny Horsman (2000) has documented the connec-
tions between illiteracy and violence among women in Canada in Too
Scared to Learn. If the commitment to citizenship education is to have any
meaning at all, social educators must take responsibility for ensuring that
all students—male and female—feel safe in their classrooms and schools.
The prevalence of violence in modern media and music, especially

of a misogynist type, makes creating safe environments for teaching and
learning an ongoing challenge. As Linda Levstik (2001) notes, “As just
about anyone who lives or works with adolescents is well aware, young
people enter the classroom with an array of images, myths and theories
about gender already in place” (p. 194). Theories of gender and sexual-
ity, damaging images from popular culture, and a high tolerance for vio-
lence in American society all shape the milieu in which teaching and
learning social studies (Crocco, 2001) takes place. If social educators as-
sume that their primary responsibility lies in inculcating subject matter,
it is unlikely that they will see their responsibility as attending to influ-
ences related to the “geographies of girlhood” (Bettis & Adams, 2005) or
boyhood. A more inclusive vision of the responsibilities of being a social
educator would involve doing gender-sensitive social studies that would
contribute to deconstructing negative influences and doing counter-cul-
tural work in rethinking gender.
Finally, another assumption that undoubtedly undergirds the prob-
lem representation of gender in social education is the ethnocentric no-
tion that the United States is a model for women of the world. Instead, in
quite a few other nations such as Norway, Sweden, Denmark, Finland,
New Zealand, Canada, Germany, and the Netherlands, (Nussbaum,
p. 378), women fare better on crucial political and economic indicators
than in the United States. Moreover, many feminists from what is con-
ventionally called “the third world” have made it abundantly clear (Bul-
beck, 1998; see also Arnot & Dillabough, 2000 for related perspectives)
that they do not view Western women as models to which they aspire.
Thus, divesting students and teachers of ethnocentric assumptions about
women worldwide may be a necessary first step in considering women of
the world productively as a “problem” for social education.
What Effects Are Produced by This Representation?

Silence and/or denial about women of the world in social education pro-
duce a climate of ignorance that provides tacit support for perpetuation
of conditions that harm women worldwide. In the case of the Nova Sco-
tia women Horsman (2000) writes about, shame about their abuse was
internalized and defeated their efforts to learn, with serious conse-
quences for their ability to sustain satisfying adulthoods. Their inability
to develop fully their capacity as adults became a material and social, as
well as personal, problem. Horsman’s educational intervention and the
women’s developing recognition that their problems were not their fault
but vestiges of an abusive patriarchal social order were liberating and
provide a model of what can come from “systemic seeing.”
Ethnocentrism in the face of difference dangerously incubates

Americans from the realities of a rapidly changing world. Similarly, ig-
norance of the cultural power of patriarchy and its effects deprives both
women and men of the intellectual tools necessary to making sense of
their own life experiences. Since patriarchy persists, the ability to name it
as a force in human relations, whether in the workplace, classroom,
school, or boardroom, is essential to understanding the dynamics of the
world in which we live. Even in so thoroughly a feminized arena as
schooling in the United States, patriarchy inflects personal relationships
and power struggles in a variety of ways (Datnow, 1998).
Finally, naïve and unexamined understandings of both women and
men worldwide will create problems for both teachers and learners in car-
rying out effective cross-cultural communication, a skill that will be increas-
ingly necessary for living and working in this century, whether the cultural
divides to be crossed are racial, ethnic, class, religious, gender, or any other.
What Is Left Unproblematic in This Representation?

In failing to consider gender or the problem of the world’s women at a
level commensurate with its significance to the world, teachers and stu-
dents lose an opportunity to reflect deeply on all the cultural systems
noted above, which shape their interpersonal relationships. The costs as-
sociated with such ignorance will be increasingly high. One need not be
as ardent an apostle of globalization as Tom Friedman (2000, 2005a,
2005b) to recognize that understanding the global landscape will pro-
vide a highly valued skill in the coming decades. What has been left un-
problematic in the silence and ethnocentrism in social education
concerning the world’s women is: first, the urgent nature of this task and
second, the need to accomplish this task in ways that are not colonizing
but de-colonizing of habits of mind and past patterns of interaction that
have been so damaging to so many.
Does this imply that cultural relativism ought to be our standard?
This writer would not advocate for such a view, but instead calls on read-
ers to find a “middle ground” (Asher & Crocco, 2001) between ethno-
centrism and cultural relativism. Each of us must answer the question of
where we stand in terms of the “universal obligations to protect human
functioning and its dignity, and that the dignity of women is equal to that
of men” (Nussbaum, 1999, p. 30). To what extent do we raise such ques-
tions in our classrooms? As I have argued elsewhere about teaching about
women of the world (Crocco, 2005), posing global dilemmas in the class-
room and allowing ourselves and our students to consider these honestly
without falling prey to the conceit that there are easy answers to these is-
sues is an important first step in teaching social education responsibly.
I suggest that what is left unproblematic in the lack of attention to

gender and globalization within social education are the following: First,
ignorance of these issues represents a failure of twenty-first century citi-
zenship education; second, inattention to issues of racism, colonialism,
sexism, and homophobia is a failure of “systemic seeing” (Crocco, 1997),
a way of understanding the underlying power structures that shape the
world. Students and teachers will find the process of coming to recognize
these structures of power, domination, and subordination challenging
and difficult for the worldviews in which they find comfort, but this way
of seeing the milieus of classrooms, schools, and nations as well as the
micro- and macro-politics shaping interpersonal relations in these con-
texts are all necessary features of twenty-first century social education. Fi-
nally, American students must be educated to understanding that the
“world is flat” and that the next century will be vastly different from the
last one in terms of what is required of American citizens in understand-
ing and engaging the rest of the world.
How Would Responses Differ if the “Problem” Were Represented Differently?

Women are half the world’s population; they have had half the world’s
experiences; and represent half the world’s future. Investing in and un-
derstanding them is critical to the future of the planet. Given this fact,
the lack of representation of the globe’s women in social education is
surprising. It remains unclear precisely what this silence signifies. As we
have seen, if and when the subject of the world’s women arises, it is often
framed as a problem of women’s deficit, lack, or incapacity; the fix al-
most invariably involves a remedy focused on changing women; that is,
making them more like men rather than addressing the underlying is-
sues at work, or what I have called “systemic seeing.” Typically, the prob-
lem is seen as a woman’s problem and the remediation as lying within
her rather than a human problem of outmoded systems of thought and
relationship, which are themselves in need of a fix.
If problems involving women were not seen as women’s problems but
as men’s problems as well, as Bacchi (1999) suggests, then perhaps
progress could be made because these problems’ significance would now
be enhanced. Teachers would all find quality, on-site day care, for exam-
ple, since child-care responsibilities would be fully shared by mothers and
fathers. Likewise, if social education reconceptualized the importance of
the family, of what Peggy McIntosh (2005) has called the “making and
mending of the social fabric,” then perhaps more attention would be given
them in our nation’s classrooms. Teachers and students would be as in-
vested in learning about conflict resolution strategies and peace education
as they are in traditional courses on history, economics, and politics.
If the problem of gender and social education were represented as

the shared problem of women and men worldwide, then male and fe-
male teachers both might include the world’s women in global educa-
tion, teaching about the ways in which women made art, even if that art
did not find a way into museums, and about the ways in which women of
the world contributed to local economies, even if they were not wage la-
borers. If all social educators believed gender important, then they
would become knowledgeable about women’s issue in their own coun-
tries as well as “global gender issues” (Peterson & Runyan, 1999). More-
over, teacher education programs would demand the exhibition of
competencies in gender and teaching (Maher & Ward, 2002) from their
preservice and in-service programs; new and experienced teachers would
be evaluated on their ability to bring male and female students to equally
advanced levels of proficiency in their knowledge of social studies con-
tent and that content would include men’s and women’s histories, the
good, the bad, and the ugly, without the overarching emphasis on creat-
ing patriotic citizens but on creating citizens who knew how to build
community rooted in honest and caring human relations.
Moreover, if teachers were taught from a systemic standpoint, then
they might show students how some women’s privileges are connected to
other women’s deprivations (Liu, 269). They would emphasize the no-
tion that sisterhood (and brotherhood) is global (Morgan, 1984; Bunch,
1987) and that the fate of the world, not just the country, rests on the
ability to see from another’s perspective. Teachers would talk about
human rights in a manner that was sensitive to the distinctive life issues
faced by women worldwide and not imply that the solution for women
lies in adapting to systems structured for men. Teachers would introduce
students to the history of patriarchy and help them reflect on the myriad
ways in which this system continues to imbricate social, political, cultural,
and religious systems. As Patricia Mann (1994) puts it:
Patriarchy devalues the social significance of actions characteristic of

women. And it excludes women from participating in those activities
that have been deemed significant and full of agency. Insofar as histori-
cal and even contemporary accounts of significant social events are pop-
ulated almost exclusively by men, it tends to look like women are not the
sort of beings capable of significant social actions. (p. 14)
If women were seen as the equals of men, and if their histories and
futures were viewed as equally important, then both male and female
teachers would teach women’s history and include women’s issues in
their economics, civics, sociology, anthropology, psychology, and geog-
raphy courses. Social educators would research and frequently publish
works in the top social studies journals investigating gender from a
global perspective as a concern central to social studies classrooms,

schools, and teacher education institutions. Of course, funding would
also be available in sums sufficient to encourage teacher educators and
researchers to pursue these lines of inquiry, and awards would be given
for the best research in this area.
Male and female students would prioritize studying how to make
towns and cities safer so as to enhance civic participation among women
(Calazzo, 2005) and gain sensitivity about the myriad ways in which bod-
ily concerns shape a woman’s existence; they would become knowledge-
able about the differences internationally in men’s and women’s civic
understanding (Hahn, 1996, 1998) and investigate these differences in
other learning domains; they would investigate the effects of national con-
text on what boys and girls take to be significant in their study of history
(see Levstik, 2001, p. 195 on the provocative differences between U.S. and
New Zealand students about women’s history); and they would state the
meaning of the acronym CEDAW (Committee on the Elimination of Dis-
crimination Against Women) and its provisions at the drop of a hat.
In short, teachers would become knowledgeable about the ways in
which women’s lives worldwide are the same or different from those of
women in the United States, and the same or different from men’s lives
worldwide. If gender and education were a concern shared by all, atten-
tion to women’s issues by women would not be viewed as political, biased,
and overly subjective (Moore & Trahan, 1997). If gender were taken
more seriously within education, perhaps more concern would be ex-
pressed over the saturation of the contemporary social milieu and edu-
cational context of schooling by sexist and damaging media portrayals of
young women and men, along with attention to “how the media teach”
(Cortes, 2005) and the “shadow curriculum” provided by the media
(Brown, 2005), especially regarding the world’s women.
Even more grandly, if the problem of the world’s women were un-
derstood as a central arena for investigation, deliberation, and action by
social educators, then perhaps women would be elected to public office
in numbers equivalent to men; women would sit on the boards of For-
tune 500 companies; women would lead legal, financial, medical, and ed-
ucational institutions in numbers equal to men; women’s concerns for
child care, rape, violence, and sexual harassment would be central con-
cerns for all; and journalists would call women as often as men as sources
for their stories (Feminist Majority Foundation, 2005).
Readers may well wonder how so grandiose a set of claims can be made
for the power of teaching differently, that is, in ways that inject women into
today’s claims for social justice more meaningfully. It is said that Margaret
Mead once commented “Never doubt that a small group of committed peo-
ple can change the world. Indeed it is the only thing that ever has.” Even so
small a group as social educators can accomplish more than it may think if
it only has the will to foment change at the local level. Even within the
micro-political milieu of one school, one department, or one teacher, the
possibilities for change are abundant. Indeed, Patricia Mann (1994)
reminds us that the analysis of micro-political activity proves that “there are
serious political implications in many of the everyday decisions individuals
make with respect to how they will act in a given circumstance, even when
those decisions are not accompanied by traditional forms of political con-
sciousness” (p. 31). To teach or not to teach about the world’s women? It
makes a difference what each social educator decides.
What’s at Stake in These Problems
Just how important are the world’s women? The World Economic Forum
(Lopez-Claros & Zahidi, 2005) puts the answer in these words, “Coun-
tries that do not capitalize on one half of their societies are misallocating
their human resources and undermining their competitive potential . . .
Even in light of heightened international awareness, it is a disturbing re-
ality that no country has yet managed to eliminate the gender gap.” The
report places the United States at number 17 out of 58 nations in terms
of its equalizing of the gender gap. The authors go on to comment that,
“The past three decades have witnessed a steadily increasing awareness of
the need to empower women through measures to increase social, eco-
nomic, and political equity, and broader access to human rights, im-
provements in nutrition, and basic education.” Social education should
need no stronger mandate than this challenge.
What is the cost of women’s inequality? Writing in Foreign Affairs, Iso-
bel Coleman (2004) defines the stakes in the most traditional terms, as
one might expect given her audience:
Over the past decade, significant research has demonstrated what many
have known for a long time: women are critical to economic develop-
ment, active civil society, and good governance, especially in developing
countries. Focusing on women is often the best way to reduce birth
rates and child mortality; improve health, nutrition, and education;
stem the spread of HIV/AIDS; build robust and self-sustaining commu-
nity organizations; and encourage grassroots democracy . . . Much like
human rights a generation ago, women’s rights were long considered
too controversial for mainstream foreign policy . . . Now, however, they
increasingly see women’s empowerment as critical to their mandates.”
(p. 80)
Isn’t it time that social educators pay more attention to gender and
social education, especially from a global perspective? Numerous “prob-
lems” need attention—from silences of subject matter, student and
teacher attitudes, and their diverse personal realities, perspectives, and

misconceptions to the lack of preparation teachers typically get to ad-
dress these topics, and the patriarchal and sexist milieu in which so many
teach and learn. Nevertheless, as the world changes, social educators
need to reshape their field for the demands of the twenty-first century.
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PART III
THE SOCIAL STUDIES
CURRICULUM IN PRACTICE
CHAPTER 10
STRUGGLING FOR GOOD ASSESSMENT IN
SOCIAL STUDIES EDUCATION
Sandra Mathison and Kristi Fragnoli
Perennial Dilemmas in Assessment

In social studies, as in other school subject areas, there is a struggle to
move away from traditional means of assessing student knowledge and
skills, such as multiple choice and forced choice tests, and toward per-
formance-based and authentic assessments of learning. No longer are
traditional tests and measurements adequate for the many purposes to
which we put assessments. Nonetheless, increased accountability de-
mands from state and national education authorities encourage the use
of those very same traditional tests, multiple choice standardized tests
that are easily scored. Any discussion of assessment must therefore con-
sider what have become perennial dilemmas.
Briefly these dilemmas are:
1. State/national versus local control: This is a perennial problem in any

educational reform, including assessment. A move to performance
assessment intensifies the tension by calling for a more active role
for students in their own assessment, as well as clear delineation of
local prerogatives over curricular content and pedagogy. At the
same time, in many places the centralized control over assessment
has increased substantially as state and national governments de-
mand more accountability at the district, school, and classroom lev-
els. Discussions about who has authority over social studies
curriculum and assessment are necessary.
2. Adding on versus reformulation: Adopting new forms of assessment
is often done in addition to those assessments already done by
197
198 Sandra Mathison and Kristi Fragnoli
the district, state, and/or other agencies. The testing burden is

already too heavy in schools and therefore serious interest in any
new assessment demands reconsideration of the whole program
of assessment.
3. Limited resources versus accomplishing the ideal: There will never be
enough resources (especially time) to create the assessment, and
therefore social studies curriculum, that we might want. This
dilemma is particularly real given that good performance assess-
ments, especially those that are authentic, must be created at the
local level, placing demands on the time and talent of an already
overworked and undervalued teaching corps. The ideal cannot be
realized, but might be approximated if there were a serious re-
consideration of uses of teacher time.
4. Disciplines/activities versus goals/objectives: So much of what counts
as school knowledge has become fossilized, making it hard to
give up or discard what is currently done. Although what is cur-
rently taught and by what means may be perfectly appropriate for
a new social studies, it must be at least open to question in when
considering the goals and objectives for teaching and learning.
5. Political versus technical solution: Assessment is a political, social,
and technical act and must be acknowledged as such in the
search for solutions to perceived problems in teaching and learn-
ing. Balancing the efforts between the two foci is critical to avoid
the co-opting of performance assessment for crass political ends
or in the name of technical sophistication.
In this chapter we will discuss these dilemmas from the perspective

of encouraging authentic assessment in social studies teaching and learn-
ing. These dilemmas must necessarily be understood within the context
where teachers are drawn into multiple roles in their evaluation of stu-
dent learning. Teachers are expected to guide student learning; mentor
students; maintain records of student achievement; report student
achievement to students, parents, the school administration, and the
state; and use assessment to develop and revise curriculum and instruc-
tion. These roles may create conflicts for teachers as they struggle to re-
spond to serve the needs of their students, adhere to what they believe
are sound pedagogical principles, and to meet external accountability
demands (Mathison & Freeman, 2003).
Assessment, Not Tests

For many years psychometricians controlled both the ways we thought
about and the ways we practiced evaluating students, teachers, and cur-
Struggling for Good Assessment in Social Studies Education 199
ricula. Early in the century, E. L. Thorndike set the path for the devel-
opment of tests and measurement as a quantitative one: “Whatever exists
at all exists in some amount. To know it involves knowing its quantity as
well as its quality” (Thorndike, 1918, p. l6).
In education, the technology of testing and measurement has been
seen as the physics of the field. Our envy has given way, however, to skep-
ticism and uncertainty about whether the exactitude of psychometrics
gets us where we want to go in education.
Our skepticism has also been fueled by recent interest in ideas such
as teacher empowerment, local control of education, and teachers as re-
searchers. Often tests and measurement are created outside schools—
edicts to be adopted by teachers and schools—ideas out of synch with the
contemporary views of teaching as a profession. The use of testing and
test results by those outside of the classroom and school has also in-
creased our skepticism as it becomes apparent there are sociopolitical
purposes for student testing, purposes sometimes run counter to the in-
terests of public education (Mathison & Ross, 2004).
As we indicated in chapter 4, the current climate of standards-based
reforms and the use of high-stakes standardized tests as the enforcing
mechanism often work against the use of performance-based and authen-
tic assessments. Recognizing the severe constraints that state-mandated
testing programs place on schools and teachers, it is nonetheless impera-
tive to enjoin schools and teachers to strive for assessments of student
achievement and progress that are meaningful; that is, that provide infor-
mation most useful for instructional decision-making at the local level.
In this chapter we will talk of assessment—tests and measurement
are a means to this end, but by no means the only means. Measurement
surely implies that we can know with precision how much of something
there is. For example, when we bake a cake we measure two cups of flour
and there is very little room for interpretation or misinterpretation—two
cups is two cups. When we measure something, we assign it a numeric
value based on some preestablished standard. In education we might say
this student is reading at a grade level of 5.6, a statement that automati-
cally raises, rather than quells, questions. First, what is meant by reading?
Is it low-level comprehension requiring only recall? Is it critical analysis?
Second, what do I know if a student has a reading level of grade 5.6?
What is a grade? How do I understand a number that is really an inter-
polation not an actual measurement? And, so on.
While we are confident of the precision of many measurements (tem-
perature, distance, volume), the standards used in education (grade point
average, grade equivalent score, normal curve equivalent) leave substantial
room for interpretation and misinterpretation. So we therefore look be-
yond measurement to determine the quality or value of something.
Tests, in a general sense, are a way of trying something out, such as in

testing a light bulb by screwing it in a lamp to see if it works. In education,
tests have become less a means of trying something out than a means for
measuring something that is predetermined. Tests are associated with stan-
dardized, formal ways of finding something out. They have been stripped
of the connotation of tentativeness implied by other uses of the word test.
Assessment, on the other hand, is an activity that may use tests and
measurement, but relies more on the idea of tests as a means of trying
out and demands less faith in the exactitude of the measurement result-
ing from that test. I am reminded of a recent conversation with my sister,
the owner of a small farm, whose property had recently been reassessed
resulting in a higher property tax. Property assessments include an esti-
mated dollar value expressed in quantitative terms, but delivered without
guarantees or even probabilities. My sister could not, for example, hold
the county to her assessed property value if she were unable to sell her
property for that assessed dollar value. Additionally, property assess-
ments often rely on qualifications along with the property dollar values.
In the case of my sister’s farm, they might note she has a new Victorian-
style home and an electric fence around the property. These qualifica-
tions suggest that assessments involve an in-exact measurement, but also
include non-numerical, qualitative indicators.
Assessment also implies a relationship between the assessor and the as-
sessed. An “assessment” is where one “sits with” the learner. It is some-
thing we do “with” and “for” the student, not something we do “to” the
student. Such a “sitting with” suggests that the assessor has an obligation
to go the extra mile in determining what the student knows and can do.
The assessor must be more tactful, respectful, and responsive than the
giver of tests. . . . (Wiggins, 1993a)
Assessments, therefore, involve the student in substantive ways, and

are not solitary acts performed by them.
In education, we speak more of assessments that depend on tests and
measurements, but that also relate to other educational ideas such as cur-
riculum, instruction, standards, and policy. Additionally, the current em-
phasis in assessment is on performance assessment in contrast with more
traditional standardized, close-ended tests. This shift in emphasis can be
revealed by a closer look at various kinds of assessment, including their
technical and social aspects.
Assessment of, for, and as Learning

Assessment in schools is most often conceived as a means to identify what
students knows and can do, that is, it is assessment of learning. This is
Table 10.1 Description of Approaches to Assessment

Approach Purpose Reference Points Key Assessor
Assessment of Judgments about Other students, teacher, student,

learning placement, norms parents, state
(Summative) promotion
credentials,
and so on
Assessment for Information External standards teacher
learning for teachers’ and expectations
(Formative) instructional
decisions
Assessment as Self-monitoring Personal goals and student
learning and self-correction external standards
(Self-evaluation) or adjustment
Adapted from Earl, L. M. (2003) Assessment as Learning. Corwin Press.
essentially a summative perspective;, that is, assessment is done at the end

of a unit of teaching and learning to determine what students know as a
result of that instructional experience. End of unit tests, culminating es-
says, final examinations, and end-of-course portfolios are all examples of
such summative assessments.
Assessment may also be formative, however, what Earl (2003) calls as-
sessment for learning. This kind of assessment is done more than once, in
the middle of instructional activities, using a variety of kinds of data to
identify what students do and do not understand. Good formative assess-
ment means “giving students as many ways of showing what they know as
possible—through formal and informal measures, through tasks chosen
by both the teacher and student, through speaking, writing, and other
forms of representation” (Levstik & Barton, 1997, p. 160). Assessment
and instruction become the same where students are not assessed only at
the end of a unit, but are continually assessed with a variety of strategies,
resulting in the teacher having a continuous flow of information on what
the students know and do not know, yet. Assessment for learning helps
the teacher to create the scaffolding that enables more and better stu-
dent understanding of what is being taught. This assessment is used to re-
focus teaching and learning activities to help students meet learning
expectations, and is essentially diagnostic. In class questions, worksheets,
student teacher conferences, class discussions, and observations are
examples of such formative assessments.
Formative and summative assessments are done largely by teachers.

But good assessment also creates a role for students to engage in self-
assessment, which has the broader objective of developing self-motivated
learners with a repertoire of meta-cognitive strategies that encourage
self-reflection and self-feedback. This assessment for learning is impor-
tant in all contexts, but perhaps most especially in social studies educa-
tion. The benefits of fostering student self assessment is closely tied to
the fundamental goal of preparing citizens for participation in democ-
racy where students learn to use their knowledge to understand, their
skills to self-monitor their understandings and lack of understandings,
and make decisions about what to do. This latter type of assessment is, in
a quite practical sense, what students will take away from their schooling
experience and that will enable and empower them to make decisions,
solve problems, and participate in public life.
Putting Assessment in Historical Context

In schools, as in other American institutions, efficiency is highly valued.
Until the performance assessment movement of the 1990s, testing was a
mark of efficiency in the educational system. Linn (2000) asserts that
over the past fifty years repeated waves of educational reform (such as
James B. Conant’s comprehensive high school but meritocratic post-
secondary education; the Elementary and Secondary Education Act of
1965; the basic skills and minimum competency movement of the seven-
ties and early eighties; and most recently the passage of the No Child Left
Behind Act) have involved the use of tests.
The development of large-scale standardized testing programs has
been a technological response to the ever-increasing numbers of people
taking tests and the increased emphasis on using test scores as policy in-
struments (Madaus, 1993). Madaus discusses the historical development
of testing as a series of changes, each responding to a contemporary con-
straint on testing, and each of which enhanced the efficiency of testing—
that is, the ability to test more people at less cost and in less time. For
example, in the mid-nineteenth century, Horace Mann replaced the oral
examinations then given in Boston Schools with written examinations
that “allowed examiners to pose an identical set of questions simultane-
ously, under similar conditions, in much less time to a rapidly expanding
student body, thereby producing comparable scores” (Madaus, 1993,
p. 17). Early in the twentieth century, studies showed the unreliability of
scoring essay tests and the multiple choice test item was created. In 1955,
Lindquist’s invention of the optical scanner combined with the use of
multiple choice test items created the possibilities for the developments
in large-scale testing over the past thirty years.
While these technical developments in testing and measurement in-

creased the efficiency of testing, concomitant developments in the uses of
testing occurred. Sometimes these technological changes were intended
to facilitate certain uses and sometimes new uses were made possible by
the changes. An example of the former is the not very concealed inten-
tion of getting rid of certain headmasters in the Boston schools, which
motivated Horace Mann’s introduction of written examinations. By using
common written examinations, Mann reasoned that any differences in
student scores could be attributable to nothing other than the ability of
the teachers. If poor performance occurred, this was reason for dismissal.
It helped that Mann thought it likely that those headmasters who were re-
sisting his attempts to abolish corporal punishment would have the lowest
scores. An example of the latter type of use has been the ever-increasing
use of testing as a policy implementation strategy for controlling content
and pedagogy in schools (Madaus, 1988; Mathison, 1992). In the search
for greater efficiency it is doubtful that measurement experts saw the po-
tential use of testing as a means of curricular control, but the power of
testing that was efficient became apparent. A good historical example of
this is the New York State Regents Examinations, which effectively con-
trols the secondary education of all students in New York State.
Not all technological changes in testing have been embraced by the
American educational community though, even when these changes add
efficiency. A good example of this is the strategy used by the National As-
sessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) for reporting on the status of
achievement in American schools. NAEP uses matrix sampling, a strategy
that minimizes the testing burden for individuals and the system as a
whole, but that allows for fairly good indicators of achievement. Matrix
sampling has not been widely adopted by states, even when educational
policy makers profess to be interested primarily in system accountability.
In New York State, for example, when statewide performance tests in so-
cial studies were adopted, all sixth graders were required to take the test
even though the test was called the “Social Studies Program Evaluation
Test.” The Bureau of Social Studies (and the Bureau of Science with a
similar test) did not even consider using matrix sampling when these
tests were adopted in the late eighties (Mathison, 1992). And, although a
sophisticated matrix sampling procedure has been used in the California
Assessment Program, it was abandoned in favour of census testing.
The rejection of some technological advances such as matrix sam-
pling suggests that not only is efficiency an important value, but so too
are individuality and competitiveness. American culture cannot resist
thinking in terms of individuality, individual accomplishment and fail-
ure, and matrix sampling disallows the assignment of value or disvalue
to individuals.
Another challenge to the primacy of efficiency has also occurred in

the testing industry. While standardized, machine-scored multiple choice
tests have made it possible to test many people in many places at one
time at relatively low cost, there is an increasing dissatisfaction with the
value of such practices. There has been ample research suggesting the ef-
fects of such testing, especially in high-stakes situations, on teaching and
curriculum has been deleterious (Darling-Hammond, 1991; Madaus,
1988; Mathison & Freeman, 2003; Mathison & Ross, 2004; Shepard,
1991; Smith, 1991). And, clearly, such testing has created differential ef-
fects on particular segments of the population including minority stu-
dents, speakers of languages other than English, students with disabilities
and females (Jencks & Phillips, 1998; Linn, 2000; Mathison, 2003;
McLaughlin & Nagle, 2004; Miller-Jones, 1989; O’Connor, 1989).
The administrative uses of standardized tests (particularly their
power to control what is taught and how) are perceived to be a con-
straint, at least by some educational researchers, teachers, and parents.
This is particularly the case because tests administered in schools are
seen as impediments to educational school reform (Madaus, 1993). Con-
cern about international competitiveness and falling standards have oc-
casioned multiple calls for the reform of schooling leading to a plethora
of standards creating activities by virtually every organization involved in
education. At least eleven (five of which are in areas specific to the social
studies) national professional or scholarly organizations have received
federal money for the development of content and performance stan-
dards (U.S. Department of Education, 1994). These standard setting ac-
tivities have generally moved in the direction of what is now called
performance assessment, and away from the conserving tests and mea-
surements currently employed. “[I]mplementation of performance-
based assessment systems based on clear and public standards can
support all schools in reaching the goals recently espoused by educators
and policymakers throughout the United States” (Taylor, 1994, p. 259).
Performance assessment is clearly the wave of the future in all disci-
plines (Darling-Hammond, Ancess, & Falks, 1995; FairTest, 1995; Herman,
Aschbacher, & Winters, 1992; Perrone, 1991; Wiggins, 1989; Wiggins,
1993; Wolf, Bixby, Glenn, & Gardner, 1991). The Office of Technology
Assessment (1992) offers a straightforward definition of performance
assessment—performance testing is “testing that requires a student to cre-
ate an answer or a product that demonstrates his or her knowledge or
skills.” This is to distinguish them from assessments that require choosing
from given options—for example, multiple choice test items. Performance
assessment can take many forms including projects (individual or group),
interviews, oral presentations, essays, experiments, demonstrations, and
portfolios (Rudner & Boston, 1994).
The emphasis in performance assessment shifts from whether stu-

dents simply know the right answer to a demonstration of how they arrive
at an answer. Performance assessments are therefore directly related to
the goals of instruction and the expected outcomes. For example, a tra-
ditional test might require students to match countries and their capital
cities, while a performance assessment might require students to prepare
a travel brochure of a region of the world, including the countries and
cities to visit, the geographical relationship among the countries, and at-
tractions to see as a traveler. In other words, the assessment task is syn-
onymous with the instructional task. The expectation is also that
performance assessments can and will examine more complex and in-
terrelated skills and knowledge. For example, students can demonstrate
they understand the issues about capital punishment, can conduct li-
brary research, and demonstrate public speaking skills by participating in
a debate on the issues.
A distinction should be made between performance and authentic as-
sessments. Although all authentic assessments are performances, the re-
verse is not true. Many performance assessments have meaning in school
contexts but do not necessarily have more general meaning or value, espe-
cially in lived experience contexts. It is the latter characteristic that distin-
guishes authentic assessment. (See Wiggins, [1996], and Newmann,
Secada, & Wehlage, G., [1995], for more on the differences between per-
formance and authentic assessment.) If the intention is for students to
learn about unionism, for example, a performance assessment might re-
quire students to write an essay about John L. Lewis, or stage a play demon-
strating attempts to unionize coal miners in the South, or prepare a photo
essay of working conditions in union and nonunion companies. An au-
thentic assessment on the same topic would require students to be involved
in real-life issues of unionism by, for example, organizing their own union
or through some type of involvement with real unions and management.
Needless to say, most emphasis is on performance assessment, and
the term authentic assessment is often misused. Were we to seriously
consider creating authentic assessment, the above example suggests the
very radical changes in knowledge, authority, and domains for learning
that would be required. While standard-setting groups and policy mak-
ers recognize the problems of creating and adopting performance as-
sessment, these are seen as technical problems to be left to the experts.
Psychometricians have demonstrated admirable technical advances in
the past, surely they will do likewise in the future. Measurement experts
are left with serious problems of validity and reliability created by the
enthusiasm of policy makers, and the literature is full of reasoned and
serious discussions about these matters (Linn, 2000; Linn, Baker, &
Dunbar, 1991; Linn, 1994; Mehrens, 1992; Messick,1994). And, given
the quality of these discussions, it is reasonable to expect significant ad-

vances will be made in the construction, administration, and interpre-
tation of performance assessments.
What, however, will be the consequence of this technological ad-
vance? Just as other forms of assessment have corrupted and been cor-
ruptible, so it will be with performance assessments in the long run.
Examples already exist of performance assessments driving the curricu-
lum in much the same way as multiple choice standardized tests have,
and little consideration has been given to the underlying meaning of
these common connections between assessment (regardless of its form)
and curriculum and teaching (Mathison, 1992). This is not to suggest
that performance assessment is not indeed an improvement over current
standardized, multiple choice testing practices, but it is to suggest that it
is no panacea for the problems of education.
The idea that any testing technique, be it a new test design or a national
test or system, can reform our schools and restore our nation’s compet-
itiveness is the height of technological arrogance and conceals many of
the negative possibilities of such a move under the guise of a seemingly
neat technological fix. Further, by casting the debate over how to ad-
dress the problems in our schools in terms of a testing solution we di-
vert attention from systemic problems related to delivery systems such
as instructional delivery, quality of textbooks, length of the school day
and year, teacher training and working conditions, and gross inequali-
ties in in-school and extra-school resources. (Madaus 1993, p. 23)
What is important is that the technological changes in testing are

accompanied by social consequences, sometimes intentional and some-
times fortuitous. The challenge for social studies educators is to em-
brace the promise of performance assessment, aware that doing so will
have consequences, and to avoid Utopian thinking about the value of
performance assessment.
The Social Studies and Performance Assessment

Social studies has received a great deal of attention in the standards de-
velopment movement, and many of the national organizations that have
received federal money for such activities have been working specifically
in the social studies.1 Even an innocent bystander would realize the out-
comes of these efforts has fueled more, not less, debate about what schol-
ars and practitioners believe students should know and be able to do as
a result of their social education. This debate is significant because the
performance assessment movement is dependent on delineations of
what students should know and be able to do. And, as indicated previ-
ously, good performance assessment tasks become instructional activi-
ties, and therefore require reconsideration of content and pedagogy.
Alleman and Brophy (1999) characterize assessment in social studies
as an uninventive, tradition-bound enterprise, one where teacher-made
tests predominated over norm-referenced tests and that tests that came
with curriculum materials; that objective tests were used more commonly
than essay tests (especially with low-ability students); and that items con-
centrated on knowledge and skills, with only slight consideration given
to affective out-comes. (p. 334). They suggest that typical social studies
assessments fail to “measure student attainment of major social studies
understandings, appreciations, life applications, and higher order think-
ing” (p. 335). This state of affairs is contrasted with the guidelines
adopted by the NCSS Advisory Committee on Testing and Evaluation,
which recommends that evaluation focus on “curriculum goals and ob-
jectives; be used to improve curriculum and instruction; measure both
content and process; be chosen for instructional, diagnostic, and pre-
scriptive purposes; and reflect a high degree of fairness to all people and
groups” (Alleman & Brophy, 1999, p. 335). Good performance assess-
ment in social studies is about more than just involving students in
“doing”; it must be assessment that focuses on students doing something
within a larger curricular framework and oriented toward valued goals.
Performance assessments for their own sake provide little of value.
An example, Object-Based Inquiry, illustrates how national and state
frameworks guide curricular goals, which inform instruction, and translate
into classroom practice and assessment. The idea of object-based inquiry is
that we learn when we touch history, and learning activities constructed
around historical objects create the context within which it is natural to
use performance assessment. The following chart reflects the relationship
among goals, learning activities, and performance assessment.
In the 1990s, two prominent social studies journals devoted issues to
“authentic” assessment in social studies (Baker, 1993; Nickell, 1999).
These special issues include cautions regarding traditional multiple
choice tests (often used inappropriately), examples of performance as-
sessments used by social studies educators, confessional tales from teach-
ers struggling to incorporate more authentic assessment into their
teaching, and useful illustrations of performance assessments.
In a special issue of the Social Science Record (Baker, 1993), after an in-
troduction by Grant Wiggins, several accounts are given of assessment
practices in New York schools. Jones (1993) gives examples of assessment
items for elementary grades and Browne and Shultz (1993) give exam-
ples for secondary grades.
Table 10.2 Object-Based Inquiry, an Illustration of Performance
Assessment Linked to Curricular Goals
Goal(s) Activity Assessment
Example 1
Explore lifestyles, Students are to research Build on the knowledge

social/cultural needs various primary items of items by grouping
and wants in different and determine the theme into an orga-
parts of the world function of each item. nized museum exhibit
Objects include mater- by determining a com-
View historic events
ial focusing on children mon focus. Provide
through the eyes of
in the 1800s. The items rationales for individ-
those who were there,
were butter churns, ual objects and
as shown in their art,
weaving cards, hoop central theme.
writing, music, and
game, ball and cup,
artifacts
Jacob’s ladder, paper
Investigate time period dolls, sampler, and
by posing analytical child’s diary entry.
questions, selecting rele- All decisions should
vant data, distinguishing be based on personal
fact from opinion, hy- analysis, research,
pothesizing, testing, and and tested hypotheses.
forming conclusions.
Example 2
Explore different tradi- Observe, analyze, arti- Write a biography

tions, experiences, and facts and primary docu- describing the owner
beliefs of people living ments to create of the belongings.
in communities hypothesis. Research Include the historical
sources for evidence to context of the time-
Investigate differing
support conclusions. period and research
and competing inter-
The activity includes a references.
pretations of the theo-
collection of items from
ries of history
World War II: post cards
Weigh the importance, of concentration camps,
reliability, and validity military uniforms, a car-
of evidence rier pigeon holder, diary
entry of soldier, photos
Consider the source of of what was occurring
historical documents on the home front, let-
ters about salvage cam-
paigns, and much more.
Students are told these
materials were found in
a piece of luggage left at
the airport.
In these discussions, many examples of instructional activities, which

would be performances or demonstrations, of what students have learned
are given. For example, a sample task for a global studies student portfo-
lio is: “Conduct an oral history on a topical but historically interesting
issue: recent American immigrants [or] veterans of Desert Storm, Viet-
nam, and World War II on ‘America as policeman in the world’.” (Wig-
gins, 1993, p. 6).
A sample task for a middle school English and social studies port-
folio is:
The principal has asked the class to be responsible for one of the
school’s showcases for the year. S/he has requested that they be
changed monthly and reflect various periods in American history. Each
student will become part of a task force that will effectively design and
create displays for a showcase. (Wiggins, 1993, p. 7)
Jones (1993) suggests the following for a fifth-grade social studies

portfolio:
1. A student self-assessment: What I have learned in fifth-grade this

year and what advice I would give to next year’s students.
2. Videotape or slide set with a cassette of a project (e.g., demon-
stration of a Native American craft).
3 A research project, such as “How People Make a Living in
Argentina.”
4. A draft of a story based on an Inuit tale or legend.
5. A summary of a group activity in which the student participated
(e.g., a decision-making activity on each of five cities to visit:
Toronto, Atlanta, San Diego, Caracas, Rio de Janeiro).
6. A letter to a pen pal in another country, in which the student de-
scribes the characteristics of American culture.
7. A journal entry in which the student describes the advantages of
democratic government, (p. 21)
Similar examples can be found in Social Education (Nickell, 1999),

although this volume shows a markedly greater emphasis on the policy
context, such as is evident in Neill’s (1999, pp. 330–333) plea regarding
the misuse of tests for evaluating teachers, or Brousseau’s (1999,
pp. 356–359) argument that social studies must be among subjects tested
at the state level to ensure the political viability of the subject matter.
Here, too, lie illustrations of what performance assessment might look
like in the social studies classroom.
Smothers Marcello (1999) describes a particular learning activity—
a retrospective on the civil rights movement, which she ties to the NCSS
curriculum theme of “time, continuity, and change” and to specific

expectations for middle grade students including:
• identify and describe selected historical periods and patterns of

change within and across cultures,
• identify and use processes important to reconstructing and rein-
terpreting the past, and
• develop critical sensitivities such as empathy and skepticism re-
garding attitudes, values, and behaviors of people in different his-
torical contexts.
The activity draws on a number of multimedia sources and asks stu-

dents to position themselves from a particular vantage point to look at the
civil rights movement using any of a number of possible forms of repre-
sentation (historical essay, journal writing, poetry, three-dimensional
model, collage, oral presentation, Web page). Smothers Marcello in-
cludes the rubric she uses to judge the students’ work. A rubric is a grid
that lists the criteria by which a performance will be judged along one side
and the degree to which each criterion is met along the other. In this ex-
ample, the criteria are (1) ideas and content—retrospective and civil
rights/slavery, (2) voice, (3) quality, (4) creativity-overall, (5) creativity-
detail, and (6) work effort. The labels for describing the attainment for
each criterion are:
• no attempt to meet basic requirements and standards,

• attempted to meet basic requirements and standards,
• met basic requirements and standards,
• met high-level requirements and standards, and
• clearly exceeded requirements and standards.
This example is important because it illustrates the need not simply

for performance on the part of students, but performance that is con-
nected with larger goals in social studies and that can be judged by par-
ticular criteria. Wysocki (1999) gives an example that similarly connects
assessment of student performance in service learning to larger NCSS
curricular goals as well as particular local instructional goals (such as par-
ticipation, writing, and volunteering).
An examination of these examples illustrates both the promise of and
challenges in adopting performance assessment. Notable characteristics of
these examples are that they describe learning activities that require active
participation by students, that varied forms of representation are encour-
aged, and that students need to draw on multiple domains of knowledge
and skill in doing the activity. As assessment tasks (and as learning activi-
ties) these are significant improvements over textbook driven instruction

where students are assessed using tests or quizzes with matching, multiple
choice, or fill-in-the-blank items. This transformation is no small accom-
plishment and occurs in the face of a long tradition of teaching social stud-
ies as lists, truncated facts, and predetermined answers (McNeil, 1988).
At the same time, these examples also demonstrate some of the chal-
lenges faced by social studies educators in the move toward performance
assessment. Many of the examples are presented without reference to
why students should do these particular activities, even though a
thoughtful reader could easily make reasonable inferences. These writers
may have been constrained by space in their discussions, but often the
move to adopt performance assessment leads to the creation of activities
or tasks that result in a performance without first thinking about the fun-
damental goal to be demonstrated by that performance (Mathison,
1994). The activity for the social studies and English portfolio, for exam-
ple, would be more sensible and richer if we knew the intention was for
students to, say, “identify and use key concepts such as chronology,
causality, change, conflict, and complexity to explain, analyze and show
connections among patterns of historical change and continuity” (NCSS,
1994, p. 34). The design and creation of a showcase would then be ped-
agogically purposeful and related to foundational goals of social studies
curriculum, and not activity for its own sake.
The examples are also fairly specific in terms of the subject matter
and form of the performance. For example, the global studies example
specifically delineates not only how students will do the performance (an
oral history) but also about whom (immigrants or veterans). There is lit-
tle apparent opportunity for students to exercise choice about how and
through what content to demonstrate they have acquired certain knowl-
edge or skills.
Referring back to the earlier distinction between performance and
authentic assessments, these examples illustrate the performance aspect
specifically in ways associated with school relevant knowledge. One needs
obviously to think about the desirability of authenticity in creating in-
structional tasks/performance assessments, which includes considera-
tions about the role and nature of social studies content and students’
roles in assessment. Given the emphasis in the social studies on creating
civic-minded individuals (NCSS, 1994), and the real-life nature of civic
responsibility, authenticity is probably a critical element of performance
assessments that truly lead to the achievement of social studies goals.
Such are the promises of and challenges to creating and adopting
performance assessment in social studies. The NCSS’s Curriculum Stan-
dards for Social Studies provides a starting place for thinking about such
reformation. These standards avoid a rigid specification of particular
content (for example, the Civil War or the American Revolution must be
taught at such and such a time) and, although they are organized around
ten thematic areas, the focus is on well-articulated skills and knowledge.
The examples provided also illustrate how the standards can be trans-
lated in classroom practices.
What the standards do not provide is a vision of the curriculum plan-
ning that will facilitate the move toward more authentic learning tasks
and assessments. Scholars and practitioners alike need to think carefully
about how this development work will be done.
The danger of mapping an existing curriculum (for example, the
history of Native Americans in fourth grade) onto something like the
NCSS standards without thinking simultaneously about the more foun-
dational goals conveyed by the standards will be an exercise in compli-
ance, not reformation. It is complex to think about generic skills and
knowledge and disciplinary content simultaneously. Mostly, disciplinary
knowledge has won out. Although content knowledge is important (and
there is nothing wrong with fourth graders learning about Native Amer-
icans) it provides little direction in the formulation of learning and as-
sessment tasks. This is much more related to the more basic and generic
ideas outlined in the Standards.
Conclusion
This chapter began with a description of five dilemmas that must be faced
in making decisions about assessment in schools, and so it concludes. These
dilemmas must be seriously addressed in order for assessment of, for, and
as learning to occur. These dilemmas need not be simple dichotomies and
in some instances a compromise resolution may be possible. For example,
it is possible to develop performance assessment at the state level and not
succumb to the lowest common denominator when large numbers of chil-
dren are being assessed. On the other hand, there has been little progress
made in reformulating assessment in schools to meet the many information
needs. Nor has there been much progress in reallocating resources (in-
cluding time and money) to meet assessment needs, with ever increasingly
more money going to support assessment demanded by governments, with
the quintessential example being the testing burden created by the No
Child Left Behind Act. But there is a growing sophistication among parents,
teachers, and school administrators that assessment is not simply about
technique, it is also about politics and must therefore be considered in
more complex and multifaceted ways—in the classroom, at the school
board meeting, among parent and community activists, and in legislatures.
These dilemmas provide a means for remembering the history of assess-
ment in schools, but also for anticipating its future.
Note
1. These organizations include the National Center for History in
the Schools UCLA; the Center for Civic Education; the National Coun-
cil for Geographic Education (in cooperation with the Association of
American Geographers, the National Geographic Society, and the Amer-
ican Geographical Society); the National Council on Economic Educa-
tion; and the National Council for the Social Studies.
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Education, 65(6), 346–350.
CHAPTER 11
READING PICTURES OF PEOPLE
Walter Werner
Consumer culture is unabashedly visual. Since the 1960s, the graphic

designer’s pervasive eye has shaped “the look” of most products, from
books and coffee cups to postage stamps and T-shirts. And every day con-
sumers encounter thousands of images explicitly designed to persuade,
inform, cajole, and entertain.
This visual turn did not bypass social education. Just a decade ago
classrooms were overwhelmingly print-dominated, supplemented by
some wall maps, posters, and videos. By contrast, technology now allows
young people to access visual collections from around the world, and to
express new ideas through combinations of image, word, video, and
sound in ways not possible a few years ago. Recent textbooks have also
become more visual, reproducing paintings, photos, charts, graphs,
posters, and political cartoons, and packaging written texts in appealing
ways. This change does not “dumb down” the word—on the cynical as-
sumption that media-savvy youth now have shorter attention spans and
little interest in reading—but more honestly acknowledges that the social
is visual, and that the visual is social. Students are now encouraged to
read this visual/social world in critical and creative ways.
A starting place is with images of people. Their faces are every-
where, peering from newspapers and billboards, smiling from wallets
and office shelves, and gazing from classroom walls. The same is true
for textbooks, where portraits outnumber pictures of places, events,
and objects. Readers encounter presidents and prime ministers, gener-
als and soldiers, captains of industry and social reformers, famous sci-
entists and inventors, notable writers and artists, and nameless ordinary
folk, all lending their “look” and approval to the written narratives of
217
218 Walter Werner
the textbook. Although human faces are so pervasive, questions are

rarely raised about how they should be read. One reason is that mun-
dane pictures seem so self-evident. Another reason is that sight is
deeply privileged in the Western tradition. We normally don’t question
how we see because what we see has such strong empirical reality. See-
ing is believing.1 Note how observation and cognition are commonly
conflated in daily conversation: “I see what you mean.” “What is your
vision for the project?” “That’s my viewpoint on the topic.” “She observed
that the issue is unclear.” “Where did you get that perspective?” “Watch
for assumptions.” Even the “idea of truth has been closely associated
with that of vision,” notes Barry (1995, p. 54), “What is true is that
which can be seen or can be made visible.” As a result, the interpretive
process of vision is rarely questioned.
My purpose is to broaden possibilities for interpreting portraits, and
to do so by encouraging many ways for reading them during classroom
discussions. Underlying this interest is a concept of meaning taken from
the interdisciplinary literature of visual culture (Werner, 2002).2 To read
a picture is to give it meaning, to interpret its elements and relationships
and to make sense of them. How this is done, though, depends on where
we assume meaning is to be found. If we believe that meaning lies pri-
marily within the image itself—in its author’s intentions and use of signs
and design features—then good interpretation consists of correctly un-
covering those purposes. The difficulty, though, is that intentions are
rarely explicit within an image, and we normally do not have access to
the artist’s explanations about what was intended in the circumstances of
that time and place. We are left to infer motivations, and this suggests
that meaning also resides in the eye of the viewer. Portraits do not speak
apart from someone who engages with them. And in this engagement, a
viewer interprets through his or her purposes, values, assumptions, and
expectations gained from prior experiences. Meaning is further influ-
enced by the contexts within which an image is viewed (Werner, 2004a).
These may include, for example, an institutional setting such as a mu-
seum or school hallway; an activity such as a lesson on the civil war; the
image’s placement in relation to other texts—below the newspaper’s
headline, or at the conclusion of a chapter’s storyline. Context also in-
cludes the uses to which an image is put. A child’s portrait can take on
different meanings when used as an exemplar of a photographic process
invented at the end of the nineteenth century, as evidence for changing
notions of childhood, as a stimulus for remembering an early relative
who immigrated to this country, as a decorative object on a kitchen wall,
or as a data source for answering a teacher’s question. Captions are some
of the simplest, yet most significant, pieces of context that museums, gal-
Reading Pictures of People 219
leries, newspapers, and textbooks use for informing readers what the
image is about, what they should notice, and why.
All three—the image with its content and design; the viewer who
comes to the image with expectations and prior knowledge; and the mi-
lieu in which the viewer encounters the image—are inseparably linked
in the question of meaning. Pictures do not communicate by them-
selves, but only speak in relation to someone within a context. Meanings
therefore become contingent, multiple, and shift over time. Never is
there just one intrinsic meaning “hidden” in a picture, waiting to be cor-
rectly uncovered through the authority of expertise. There will always
be a surplus of meanings, something more that can be said across time,
place, and viewers.
This concept of meaning allows for many ways of reading portrai-
ture. The approach recommended in this chapter starts from the fact
that every portrait—whether the medium be a painting, drawing, sculp-
ture, or photograph—invokes at least three people: the subject (the
sitter) represented within the picture, the author (the painter or pho-
tographer) who created the image, and the viewer who interprets the
image. These three provide foci for interpreting pictures of people. A
starting place is with the subject (Who is this person? What inferences
about her life and status does this picture allow?), before moving to the
author and/or viewers. These latter two foci are not used every time a
portrait is studied, but only when warranted by student interest and rel-
evant to the ongoing discussion. The goal is to have students come to
recognize that pictures can be interpreted by looking within the frame
(interpreting the subject), behind the frame (interpreting the author),
and in front of the frame (interpreting the viewer). The following dis-
cussion demonstrates that within each of these foci there are overlap-
ping ways to read portraits; the eleven ways are meant to be illustrative
rather than exhaustive.
Interpreting Subjects
An obvious feature of any portrait is its representation of someone or
some group. Whether the representation is of an anonymous skate-
boarder or the first president, the information can be interpreted vari-
ously. The following readings—literal, biographical, empathetic, iconic,
and psychological—are examples. Within any reading, though, infer-
ences need to be supported with evidence from the image itself (literal
readings are the least inferential, whereas psychological readings are
highly connotative).
220 Walter Werner
Literal Readings
When confronted with a portrait, our eyes automatically focus on the
subject’s physical features and the setting. We are curious about what this
person uniquely “looked like” at that moment and period of life, and so
scan the image for prominent facial and body features such as eyes, nose,
mouth, expression, pose, relative age, and for anything unusual about
dress, use of props, and characteristics of the setting. According to
Walker and Chaplin (1997, p. 117), “A viewer’s knowledge of a picture is
built up from a succession of glances which, in part, are determined by
the image’s forms. So, while no single linear order of reading is imposed
upon the viewer, the presence of dominant features will attract the eye.”
It is the assumed mimetic correspondence between picture and person
that initially attracts our interest. Here is evidence of physical character-
istics that we then use for judging the face as, for example, lively and at-
tractive. So this is what Henry Ford looked like! Yet his face’s literal
aspects—its physiognomy—are only general markers that point to gen-
der, age, and perhaps ethnicity. Physical characteristics suggest very little
beyond this. Understandably, though, we want to know considerably
more about the person than is provided through these surface features
and their denotative meaning, and this desire leads to more connotative
interpretations.
Biographical Readings
Viewers are rarely satisfied with a subject’s physicality without also know-
ing something about that person’s circumstances. Biographical readings
attempt to situate people within events and stories. Inferences are drawn
about cultural identities and practices, and broader ways of life in which
they participated. Styles of hair, jewelry, and clothing, uses of gesture and
props, and the presence of objects and room furnishings, for example,
provide clues to social class, occupational roles, club memberships,
group status, relative wealth, living conditions, and historical time period
(Burke, 2001).
Portraits have been used for centuries to mark important events in
the lives of individuals. Wealthy families commissioned paintings to
memorialize graduations, births, deaths, weddings, reunions, emigra-
tions, and other turning points, thereby investing their life histories with
a sense of progress, group affiliation and story; such pictures reminded
them of where they came from, who they belonged to, and how they fitted
into a family lineage or community hierarchy. And the spread of hand-
held cameras by the end of the nineteenth century profoundly changed
the ways in which ordinary people came to understand themselves and
their life histories. Photos could now be taken across a lifespan, allowing
for changes to be highlighted and compared, and for pictures of relatives
and friends from distant pasts and places to be made “present” in one lo-
cation (an album or picture shelf). Never before in human history was
this possible. Prior to mass-produced cameras, only the affluent afforded
painted portraits, whereas by the turn of the twentieth century most every-
one in Western societies could access an ongoing stream of photos of
themselves and of people, objects, and places important to them. Today
visual images and personal identities have become inseparable. The pic-
ture tells us what we looked like, the important places we have been, the
things we valued, who our friends and family were, and what events and
experiences were significant; it both documents and shapes how we un-
derstand our lives.
Although biographical readings rely on the visual evidence from
which to infer the circumstances of subjects’ lives—their social loca-
tions and what was important to them—this information is limited
because it presents only a moment without a before or an after. An in-
stant is frozen in time and space apart from history or storyline. At a
flea market I bought an album filled with studio images of people
from Victorian Scotland, whose names, dates, places of residence, cir-
cumstances, and reasons for having their photos taken are now lost;
the pictures point to brief moments in their lives, and I am left won-
dering what motivations and stories stand behind these moments, and
why over time these pictures ceased to matter even as memories. All
that remains is a reified moment giving witness to someone’s presence
in a studio.
Empathetic Readings
Through empathetic readings viewers imaginatively enter into the sub-
ject’s experience or beliefs. A picture on the newspaper’s front page—
depicting grief on the face of an Olympian runner seconds after
stumbling at the starting block—elicits an immediate response even be-
fore we know her name, the country she represents, or the length of the
race. We enter alongside the runner’s experience, and imagine how it
feels to have years of training, sacrifice, and anticipation lost to the
capriciousness of chance and accident. This emotional empathy draws
on our own experiences of disappointment and loss, and so places us in
solidarity with her.
When there is little common experiential ground for emotional em-
pathy, cognitive empathy encourages viewers to grasp the subject’s frame
of reference nonjudgmentally: what beliefs motivate runners to spend
222 Walter Werner
years training for an event that lasts a few seconds? What is the required
commitment and discipline? This is an attempt to understand the event
from the imagined point of view of the runner’s personal values and be-
liefs, her nationalistic and cultural assumptions, and the competitive
practices of elite sport that define her identity.
Sometimes portraits do not provide enough information, or their
subjects’ circumstances are so removed from viewers, that empathy be-
comes difficult without access to additional background knowledge. Stu-
dents find such images boring unless a teacher intervenes with brief
anecdotes that connect the subject to a broader issue, significant deci-
sion, or challenging event.
Iconic Readings
Many portraits—such as Dorothea Lange’s “migrant mother” (1936), Joe
Rosenthal’s marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima (1945), or Stuart
Franklin’s student facing down a line of tanks in Tiananmen Square
(1989)—became famous over time by taking on broad cultural meanings
that transcend the individuals. Iconic images point to something much
bigger than themselves. They become symbols for ideas, values, events,
places, time periods, or institutions. It is now hard to recall the civil rights
movement without conjuring up the newspaper picture of Rosa Parks
riding the bus in 1955 or of Martin Luther King Jr. delivering his Wash-
ington speech in 1963; the pictures stand in for a significant historical
moment bigger than a day in the lives of two people.
Reading iconic images requires relevant background knowledge
about the pictures themselves and their changing meanings and uses
over time. Without knowledge, viewers cannot appreciate how Alberto
Korda’s portrait of Che Guevara (1960) became a worldwide icon for rev-
olutionary bravado, nor recognize how this famous image has been vari-
ously referenced and played with in popular culture; at the denotative
level of meaning, the picture only shows a resolute looking young man
who has not had a haircut and shave in some time. Similarly, because of
limited life experiences students may not recognize John Glenn’s smiling
face as connotating regained national pride at a low point in the Cold
War, or Mother Teresa’s small figure representing compassionate action
on behalf of the world’s poorest citizens. Classroom discussion is neces-
sary to animate iconic images.
Mundane portraits without iconic status are often used iconically in
newspapers and social studies textbooks. For example, when a newspa-
per publishes a picture of a nameless Palestinian youth taking aim with a
slingshot at an Israeli tank in the city of Bethlehem, iconic meaning is
being drawn from the imagery of David and Goliath. President Nixon’s
image in a magazine story may be used as visual shorthand for the com-
plex successes and failures of his administration, or for the idea of obses-
sive power. And textbooks commonly portray ordinary people as
representing broad social groupings (e.g., a farm worker stands for the
plight of migrant labor during the depression), significant events or time
periods (e.g., a soldier in a muddy trench puts a human face to the First
World War), geographical regions (e.g., an Inuit youth on her snowmo-
bile signifies the Arctic), or economic sectors (e.g., roughnecks working
on an oil rig stand in for the energy sector). For naïve readers, though,
visual shorthand can contribute unwittingly to visual stereotypes of
groups, time periods, regions, or industries.
Psychological Readings
Portraits rarely allow for the kinds of inferences that most interest view-
ers: they want to know not just what this person looked like, but some-
thing about his or her personality. However, a subject’s visual demeanor
implies very little about personality characteristics. Inferences about
inner states and character remain little more than a guessing game. We
do not know what a gesture, facial expression, or particular pose may
have referenced about feelings and intentions at that moment. A portrait
offers even less insight into whether this was a kind, generous, and like-
able individual. An awkward smile and tentative glance do not suggest
whether the subject was shy or gregarious, aloof or charismatic, trustwor-
thy or evasive. Unlike face-to-face encounters, we cannot rely on multiple
cues across time and context to validate a nuanced view of what the per-
son was like. The picture’s surface remains mute unless we previously
knew the subject and something about the conditions under which the
image was made. Psychological readings always need to be questioned.3
Through the centuries, however, subjects have used to advantage the
viewer’s desire to interpret psychologically. Royal courts, political elites,
and wealthy clients commissioned artists to produce “authorized” images
in which pose, dress, and expression were contrived for desired effects.
These portraits were rhetorical, presenting subjects in ways they wished to
be seen physically and psychologically. Agnolo Brunzino, a popular
painter hired by the powerful Medici in sixteenth-century Florence, was
considered “a brilliant professional, a reliable showman who could be
counted on to idealize even the least attractive client’s features, and then
take decorative liberties with everything else: clothing, jewelry, furniture.
He made the bourgeois rich look royal and smart. It was a winning game”
for himself and his subjects (Cotter, 2004, ¶ 14). From the 1850s onward,
224 Walter Werner
professional photographers worked hard to convey desirable personas for

clients through subtleties of lighting, choice of expression, and use of re-
touching and tinting to soften facial features and eliminate blemishes.
They believed they could capture inward “truth” through empathy with
the subject. In 1856, for example, a prominent Parisian portraitist gave the
following advice to his apprentices: “It is how light lies on the face that you
as artist must capture. Nor can one be taught how to grasp the personality
of the sitter. To produce an intimate likeness rather than a banal portrait,
the result of mere chance, you must put yourself at once in communion
with the sitter, size up his thoughts and his very character” (Newhall 2002,
p. 66). More than a century later, Yousuf Karsh (1976, 1992) became one
of North America’s best known portraitists by playing on the fiction that he
could convey personality. He published hundreds of images that flattered
his famous subjects, including an iconic photo of Albert Einstein’s face.
But his pictures tell little about personality and far more about how he con-
structed subjects for imagined audiences.
Interpreting Authors
Another obvious feature of portraits is that they are created by individu-
als living in particular times and places. Behind any picture stands a
process of authorship that can be read. For example, an image speaks to
the artist’s technical and aesthetic expertise with a brush or camera
(technical readings), her editorial judgments about the subject (editor-
ial readings), the cultural attitudes and stereotypes within which she
worked (indexical readings), and the ways in which she chose to position
viewers (spectatorship readings). These readings expand the types of in-
formation that can be sought from portraits, enriching how we under-
stand them, and making their interpretations more interesting.
Technical Readings
Viewers make authorship visible when focusing on how design features are
used for particular effects, such as infusing the image with mood and sug-
gesting judgments about its subject. It is interesting to ask how authorized
painters and photographers of Abraham Lincoln created representations
of this remarkable president to convey selective feelings and interpreta-
tions. They chose content for the foreground and background, and ma-
nipulated angle of vision (e.g., above, below, side, frontal), field of view
(e.g., narrow, wide), distance from the subject (e.g., close, far), sharpness
of focus, depth of field, conditions of lighting, and the extent of cropping
and framing. Careful attention was given to composition—the use of
shape, line, symmetry, movement, perspective, and shading—for creating

the tensions and moods that could engage viewers and encourage certain
attitudes. They mediated rather than mirrored the man “as he was.”
In short, authors make deliberate decisions when “setting up” their
pictures. By focusing on these design decisions, viewers are enabled to
appreciate the technical and aesthetic skills of portraitists, recognize how
images produce effects, and even more importantly, understand that all
pictures are representations (Hall, 1997). These constructed artifacts
never function as transparent widows, but as with any window, mediate
the quality of light, frame what is seen, and provide a point of view from
which to see.
Editorial Readings
Portraits are similar to newspaper editorials because both convey judg-
ments about their subjects (e.g., portraying them as wise, silly, friendly,
sexy, pompous, ordinary, trustworthy, exotic, competent). A tourist’s
camera can be used to represent people in respectful and sympathetic
ways or in ways that emphasize their “otherness”—as exotic, underdevel-
oped, dangerous, cute; whatever the normative representation, it reveals
some of the photographer’s subjectivities. These include the mix of val-
ues, allegiances, sensitivities, desires, likes, expectations, and commit-
ments that allow the artist to form a unique image. Editorial readings
infer these judgments and their underlying subjectivities.
Each brush stroke embodies the painter’s choices and judgments.
When one of America’s outstanding portraitists was asked what he did
for a living, Gilbert Stuart (1755–1828) cleverly replied “I get my bread
by making faces,” thereby acknowledging responsibility for “the look” of
his subjects (Glueck, 2004, ¶ 2); he literally “made faces” for so many of
the country’s famous, such as Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, James
Madison, James Monroe, and others. He also painted over one hundred
likenesses of George Washington, including the face on the dollar bill.
What made him an outstanding painter was his ability to reproduce facial
features and infuse them with subtle expression that reflected his editor-
ial judgments. He made the faces come alive in ways that he wanted.
Similarly, photographs are “objective” only in the narrow sense that
incoming light is recorded chemically or digitally; everything else is influ-
enced by the photographer’s eye/I, whether adjusting the lens, manipulat-
ing the conditions for light, framing the composition, or processing the
desired look of the finished product. During the first two decades of the
twentieth century Lewis Hine (1874–1940) used his immense photographic
skill to empathetically document men, women, and children working
226 Walter Werner
within American factories, and his commitment to reforming their working

conditions comes through the images (Seixas, 1987). But later in his life,
when hired by managers of industry to celebrate machines and people
working together, the aesthetics of his photos shifted to accommodate the
changing purposes of his new political project. Comparisons of his early
and later representations of factory life speak to the hand and heart that
fashioned them, giving insight into what this artist celebrated and whose
views he valued at different points in his career. The editorial messages of
his images reveal something about his own subjectivities.
Indexical Readings
Representations not only carry the imprint of their makers’ values and
interests (and so can be read editorially), but also reflect (or resist) the
broader social attitudes, stereotypes, and conventions within which these
portraitists worked and found acceptance. Indexical readings draw in-
ferences about the ways in which portraits reference or point to (index)
these social attitudes and stereotypes. As Howells (2003, p. 70) notes,
“Cultural texts inevitably betray the values of the cultures in which they
were created.”
An example of perpetuating social stereotypes can be found in pic-
tures of aboriginal peoples created during the nineteenth and first half
of the twentieth centuries. These images reflected cultural attitudes
about the past and the future of aboriginal societies. In keeping with a
widely held belief that aboriginals were vanishing from North America,
painters such as George Catlin in the 1830s and Paul Kane in the 1840s
traveled west in search of romantic portraits to satisfy the tastes of wealthy
urban markets. Their idealized paintings, although purporting to be
ethnographically accurate, portrayed dramatic subjects from an imagi-
nary past unspoiled by the influences of the dominant society. This cul-
tural stereotype of the “noble primitive” further grew in popularity as
photography came into widespread use after the 1850s. Tourists, survey-
ors, government and church officials, anthropologists, and commercial
photographers poured nostalgia for an imaginary past through the
lenses of their cameras. One of the most ambitious and best known was
Edward Curtis (1868–1952), a Seattle photographer, who published
thousands of pictures from 1900 to 1930 in which native peoples were
posed in ways that he imagined to be traditional (2004). “To do so, he
frequently used wigs, costumes, and other props, dressing up his subjects
to look more as he believed they used to look. He carefully removed all
evidence of modernity and photographed his subjects in romantic poses
and performing traditional activities. In his view, contemporary Native
people were contaminated by their contact with white culture. His pho-
tographs took the viewer back before contact and provided a nostalgic
glimpse of ‘real’ Indians, as Curtis imagined them to be” (Francis, 1996,
p. 3). He was not the first. In prior decades, studios dressed-up and
dressed-down aboriginals to match desired cultural stereotypes and es-
sentialized visual identities. Such pictures can now be read for insight
into broader attitudes circulating within the dominant society.
Social attitudes are also reflected in the conventions of portraiture at
given times and places. What counts as a portrait—how it represents its
subject—depends not only on norms shared by an artist’s professional ref-
erence group, but also by expectations and tastes circulating in the mar-
ketplace.4 In the past, formal conventions governed how subjects were
dressed, what was held in their hands, what symbols were included in the
picture, and how groups were posed—who sat, stood, or knelt, who had a
hand on whose shoulder, and who was foregrounded or backgrounded.
These conventions spoke to status inequalities around class, gender, and
race that were taken for granted; in Renaissance art, for instance, female
plumpness was a signifier of wealthy women of leisure. Another example
of social class conventions can be seen in Gilbert Stuart’s full-length paint-
ing of Washington in 1796, depicting him in a rather theatrical “pose of a
Roman orator, right arm outstretched, a sheathed sword in his other
hand, surrounded by allegorical symbols of his office” (Glueck, 2004,
¶ 12). This and similar poses—such as sitting on a rearing horse—fitted
contemporary European conventions for celebrating powerful political
leaders, whereas the use of such poses today would be viewed as satire
more befitting political cartoons. In order to signify wealth, power, and
occupational knowledge, formal portraits from the nineteenth century
sometimes depicted their subjects reading or holding books, or seated or
standing in front of bookcases; if the names of books were visible, the sit-
ter was being linked with particular ideas. And as mass photography made
portraits more affordable by the end of the nineteenth century, studios
provided working-class sitters with a choice of props, clothes, and trite
backgrounds to portray themselves as socially and economically better off
than they were.
The concept of ideology can be a useful tool when interpreting images
indexically. It refers to those ideas—assumptions, values, expectations, ar-
guments—about the social world that are intended to serve, or have the ef-
fect of serving, the interests of particular institutions or groups. Such ideas
are self-serving because they legitimize or hide the benefits (social, eco-
nomic, political, or other benefits) that a group enjoys, often at the expense
of other groups. For centuries racist organizations, for example, argued
that “others” were in some way inferior (e.g., morally weak, culturally
228 Walter Werner
primitive, intellectually undeveloped, physically different), and used por-

traits as “scientific” evidence of this “otherness” (Willinsky, 1998). “Lesser”
groups were presented as visually unique, thereby implying the reasonable-
ness of treating them differently.
Spectatorship Readings
To use a clumsy but descriptive metaphor, a picture “positions” viewers
by offering them standpoints from which to look. This positioning de-
fines the spectator in three ways. The first is the offering of a physical
standpoint somewhere in front of the image from which to see the sub-
ject. Viewers are placed close up or further back, below or above, off to
one side or directly in front of the subject; they are also given a field of
view that focuses narrowly on the subject’s face or more broadly on a full-
length view of the person within some social space, such as a sitting-room
or a bedroom.
In turn, this physical placement offers viewers a psychological stand-
point. A close-up position directly facing the subject turns observers into
friendly and accepted insiders. Placement off to the side or at some dis-
tance allows viewers to watch in a detached way as outsiders. And when the
subject is framed by a window or a partially closed door, viewers are placed
in a powerful, and sometimes uncomfortable position of hidden voyeurs.
This psychological positioning is further enhanced through the subject’s
mode of address—how he or she acknowledges or ignores the viewer’s pres-
ence, the type of look conveyed, and the ways in which the body is dis-
played for the benefit of observers. The mode of address encourages a
particular subject/viewer relationship. Magazine ads for perfumes, for ex-
ample, illustrate a range of modes of address. The young models may ad-
dress viewers through open smiles and friendly demeanors, stares of cool
detachment or distain, poses suggesting invitation or aggressive hostility.
Each gaze and pose implies an attitude toward viewers, infuses an
emotional tone to the encounter, and offers them a way to look (e.g.,
subservience, equality, envy, desire). One of the features that makes
Leonardo Da Vinci’s “Mona Lisa” intriguing is the ambiguous mode of ad-
dress that places observers in an uncertain relationship with her; although
she looks at us, we don’t know whether she is bemused, pleased, or slightly
disgusted by our presence and interest. Her direct look and slight smile
leave us uncomfortable.
A third standpoint is that of the assumed ideal viewer. Artists produce
for an imagined audience who occupies particular social locations (of
age, gender, social class, occupation, or ethnicity) and holds certain be-
liefs and values (e.g., religious, ideological, patriotic). The medieval genre
of Madonna and Child assumed connoisseurs with the religious commit-

ments, aesthetic sensitivities, and background knowledge requisite to ap-
preciating a painting’s devotional purposes and subtle details. Today,
romantic paintings of military leaders heroically dying in battle scenes
seem very contrived because viewers are far removed from the patriotic
ideals assumed by eighteenth-century artists. Similarly, the European
genre of upper-class female nudes painted from the Renaissance through
to the nineteenth century presupposed male audiences who had the
wealth to commission images of wives and mistresses, and to display them
along side paintings of lands, livestock, and houses, all in celebration of
property (Berger, 1972). Because contemporary audiences are not mem-
bers of this assumed viewer group, they often find the women’s modes of
address—the looks on their faces and the ways in which their bodies are
positioned for the pleasure of viewers—as humorous, bizarre, or even
offensive. When we encounter a difficult or what seems like a strange por-
trait, questions can be raised about the knowledge, values, and experi-
ences that the artist assumed on behalf of the projected audience.
The concepts of mode of address and viewer standpoints provide tools
for analyzing images and for accepting or rejecting the position offered to
us. Thoughtful acceptance or rejection involves recognition of how the
artist constructs spectatorship and an explanation of why the values, emo-
tional tone or beliefs inherent in this offered position are (not) acceptable.
Interpreting Viewers
Because every portrait implies a third person, it is useful at times to turn
the questions back on the viewer: What are the effects of this image on us
and others, and why? What do our interpretations of this picture reveal
about our assumptions, values, expectations, and social locations?
Reading of Effects
Power is neither a “force” nor a “potential” residing in the content or de-
sign of an image, nor is it something that an image “owns.” It is mani-
fested when there are effects on what viewers come to feel, believe, or do.
These effects vary depending on the contexts in which a picture is seen,
and what viewers bring to it. For illustrative purposes, let’s briefly look at
four effects.
Portraits can have persuasion effects. Most pictures encountered
every day are little more than adverts designed to inspire brand loyalty or
convince us of ideas or actions. Many rhetorical devices are used. A com-
mon one, for example, links images of nameless models or well-known
230 Walter Werner
figures (e.g., singers, entertainers, athletes) with products for sale. Even
charity and international development agencies use celebrity faces, often
combined with up-close and personal images of desperate children or
adults in need of food and medical care, to elicit viewer sympathies and
raise funds. In these cases, power is manifested to the extent that the
rhetorical device has a persuasive effect.
Closely related to persuasion are surveillance and enforcement ef-
fects (Foucault, 1999). Within some religious traditions from Eastern Eu-
rope, icons of saints and angels are hung in homes and churches as
reminders to the faithful that their daily lives are watched. Viewers are af-
fected to the extent that they believe that the icons invoke a presence
that sees and hears them. Similar forms of passive surveillance were prac-
ticed by European empires of the past two centuries. One simple strategy
was to place the monarch’s picture and statue everywhere throughout
the realm. Millions of Queen Victoria’s regal portraits, for instance,
watched from the walls of classrooms, offices, stores, hotels, barbershops,
and even homes, symbolically reminding loyal subjects of the empire’s
unifying gaze. And during the past century, totalitarian regimes splashed
their leaders’ portraits on billboards, prominent street corners, and pub-
lic buildings to signify that the state has eyes everywhere. Saddam Hus-
sein’s ubiquitous portraits and statutes conveyed more than egomania;
Iraqis were reminded daily that their leader’s political party looked on
and after the nation’s citizens. To the extent that these strategies were
successful in encouraging loyalty and compliance, power is manifested.
Portraits can also have the effect of reinforcing notions of social nor-
mality and abnormality. Respected scientists, working with theories of
race and eugenics from the 1870s through the 1940s, used the camera to
demonstrate that “undesirables,” such as criminals, the insane, the poor,
and members of some ethnic groups, displayed facial features and body
types different from the “desirable” norm (Henning, 2000; Sturken &
Cartwright, 2001); some of these negative stereotypes continue to circu-
late in popular culture through comic books, video games, and commer-
cial ads. During early decades of the twentieth century, painters such as
Frederic Remington and Charles Russell popularized stereotypes of “the
Old West,” using “the look” of Native Americans who lived on the Plains
as the ideal visual type for all aboriginals. Their romanticized stereotypes
essentialized facial expressions, hair styles, and clothing from a small
number of cultural groups in ways that disregarded diversity across hun-
dreds of aboriginal nations; when popularized through the media, these
images had the effect of over-generalizing, thereby creating a narrow vi-
sual normality (Walker, 1992). The power of these images lay in their re-
inforcing of stereotypes with wide reach on the public imagination.
Not surprisingly, the selection and uses of portraits within textbooks

may also have the effect of reinforcing ideology in various ways. They are
complicit by offering young readers ideas and images taken for granted in
the larger society, and that serve those groups and institutions that bene-
fit from the status quo. These images can be a conserving force for domi-
nant values, clichés, and stereotypes, unless accompanied by a pedagogy
that recognizes and questions ideology. Most portraiture, for instance,
highlights and celebrates individuals. But when scores of individuals are
displayed throughout a book, the result is an unwitting and cumulative re-
inforcement of individualism. Most pictures are of notable people who
made a difference to their society by distinguishing themselves as explor-
ers, inventors, politicians, and military leaders, and whose images now
serve as reminders to students of desirable personal characteristics such as
courage, ingenuity, wisdom, resourcefulness, stamina. Collectively they
suggest that social progress, political change, and technical improvement
occur through individual heroes and their extraordinary actions in shap-
ing the course of events. Their imagination, determination, genius, and
charisma make things happen. But this celebration of individualism is
misleading for what it leaves out: the social movements, institutional in-
frastructures, and political constituencies that give rise to these individu-
als and allow them to be successful (den Heyer, 2003). Albert Einstein’s
iconic image as the eccentric and brilliant scientist is one of the most rec-
ognizable by students, and carries with it the idea of an extraordinary
mind who single-handedly, through the sheer brilliance of thought,
changed the way we understand the world and ourselves. Einstein was all
of that and more; however, neglected is the underlying social organiza-
tion of science—including the international community of physicists, its
journals and conferences, networks of funding agencies, and the army of
nameless assistants working in commercial, governmental and university
labs—that makes the individual’s work possible. Similarly, the daring
accomplishments of early European explorers and traders were sup-
ported by the extensive social, political, and material resources of First
Nations (their trade routes, expertise, and guidance), powerful and well-
resourced companies, and sponsoring governments. There is nothing
wrong with admiring the heroic actions of distinguished individuals—
indeed, it is the heroic that engages our imagination—as long as this nar-
row message about individualism is tempered with a broader and more re-
alistic view of agency. Such balance is particularly relevant within
consumer cultures that aggressively market the cult of the superhero as a
way to sell every conceivable product.
Another example of how textbooks reinforce ideology is through the
choices made about whose portraits to include and exclude. Editors select
232 Walter Werner
on the basis of deeply held assumptions about whose lives should be cele-
brated, and in turn, the use of these portraits as official knowledge per-
petuates those assumptions, as well as the larger social, economic, or
political status quo of which those assumptions are a part. Inclusion of
someone’s picture does more than honor an individual’s achievement;
unless flagged for readers, the picture may be read as legitimizing the cul-
tural attitudes, economic arrangements, political practices, or social roles
that this individual represents. Selection often gives prominence to a nar-
row range of idealized political and military leaders, and relatively little to
labor and community movements, international organizations (e.g., UN
agencies, World Court), and major nongovernment organizations that
are making a difference to international development, health, human
rights, and environment. A cumulative effect of seeing the same slice of
famous and idealized “men” across textbooks and grade levels teaches stu-
dents about what forms of leadership “really” count. An alternative is to vi-
sually display a broader range of leadership values and styles, so that in
addition to celebrating the faces of the overly famous, students are en-
couraged to raise questions about our society’s assumptions about lead-
ership and fame.
Reflexive Readings
Controversy over a recently discovered painting of William Shakespeare
prompted a critic to wryly note that “How we read the portrait says as
much about us as the painting itself” (Sheppard, 2002, p. D9). We are au-
tobiographically present in our interpretations, and this is why the ques-
tion needs to be turned back: What do our interpretations imply about
ourselves? This question reminds us that a picture’s meaning arises
through the irreducible triad of image/viewer/context. Viewers use
imagination and memory when making an image speak within some con-
text; what is seen is shaped by what we bring to the encounter, including
our expectations, assumptions, commitments, and background knowl-
edge, all of which are rooted in our prior experiences and social loca-
tions (such as nationality, gender, ethnicity, social class, occupation,
memberships in religious and political groups).
An example of how interpretations can reflect nationality arose
around media pictures of American and British soldiers in Iraq. Newspa-
pers around the world used many of the same images, but with different
meanings. A view of tired twenty-year-old soldier, his face painted and a
cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, was reprinted in over
one hundred U.S. papers as the iconic “face of Falluja” (Falluja was a city
in which the fighting was intense). One writer referred to him as “a brave
American marine . . . , his face bloodied and soiled by combat, his ex-
pression resolute” (Rich, 2004, ¶ 13), whereas a commentator from an-
other country suggested a very different meaning: the picture did
deserve “to be elevated to the status of icon—not of the war in Iraq, but
of the new era of supercharged American impunity” (Klein, 2004, ¶ 6).
Other foreign media nominated a picture of another marine taken a few
days earlier to be Falluja’s poster boy; he was shown executing a
wounded prisoner in a mosque. The emotions and meanings mobilized
by these portraits depended on the national ideologies brought to them,
and on one’s sense of political allegiance and cultural identity.
Our reaction to an image—whether we are bothered by it, for exam-
ple, or see it as merely mundane—may speak to some of the “of course”
assumptions we deeply take for granted about our society’s status quo.
Such beliefs appear to be so “natural” and “obvious” that they are hard to
recognize; they seem to be nothing more than common sense about how
the social world does and should work. As Michael Apple (1990) ob-
served, such ideas and values reside in the bottom rather than the top of
our heads, and pervade the very ways in which we see. Examples may in-
clude beliefs that the practices of political, legal, economic, and educa-
tional institutions are fair for all; that individuals are rewarded according
to ability, honesty and hard work; that political leaders work in the inter-
ests of all citizens; that foreign policies and actions are motivated by
democratic, altruistic, and humanitarian values; that our media provide
objective news compared to foreign media, etc. Because these beliefs are
cast in general terms, they appear to have an “obvious” truth value, and
so can continue to frame and constrain how we see and think about ap-
parent inequalities and contradictions within the status quo. Images that
portray contrary examples are viewed as exceptions or as biased, thereby
protecting the status quo from questions.
Summary
I am not suggesting that portraiture become another addition to the over-
crowded curriculum, or that it replace established units of study. Ongoing
infusion is a more effective way. Textbooks come loaded with portraits—in
the form of drawings, paintings, cartoons, and photos—designed to convey
information about a range of people, and are usually presented as if their
meanings are self-evident. Whenever appropriate, a question can be raised
about how students make sense of these and other images. Such teachable
moments may last a few seconds or stretch into longer discussions.
Interpretations can be enriched through selection from one or
more of the eleven overlapping approaches suggested in this chapter
234 Walter Werner
and summarized below. The first five focus on the subject within the
frame of a portrait, whereas the next four focus on the author behind
the frame, and the last two on the viewer in front of the frame. Use
three or four of the approaches for interpreting the following untitled
photos taken by an anonymous amateur photographer within imperial
India during the last part of the nineteenth century; they portray the
ruling British elite, and local merchants and artisans.
1. What does the portrait tell us about its subject?

• Literal readings: What do we learn about the subject’s appear-
ance and their physical setting? (e.g., his or her facial and body
characteristics, clothing, relative age, ethnicity; use of gestures,
expression, pose, props; features of the physical location)
• Biographical readings: What information can be inferred about
social class identities, group memberships and relationships, oc-
cupational practices and standing, living conditions, and rela-
tive wealth? About the importance of this event? About what
things/places/people this person valued? What is the support-
ing evidence?
• Empathetic readings: How does the portrait encourage us to em-
pathize with the subject emotionally or cognitively? Why is em-
pathy (not) difficult?
• Iconic readings: Is this portrait connotative of something larger
than the portrayed subject? (e.g., an event, institution, time
period, set of ideas.)
• Psychological readings: Why is psychological information (e.g.,
inner states, motivations, and personality characteristics such
as trustworthiness, likeability, leadership, competence) diffi-
cult to infer? Is there evidence that the subject and author
wanted us to infer personality characteristics? (e.g., through
use of pose, expression, gesture, symbol.)
2. What does the portrait tell us about its author?
• Technical readings: What design features were used to construct
this representation? (e.g., choice of angle of vision, distance,
field of view, focus, background/foreground; use of cropping,
framing, lighting) How do these features set a mood, encourage
a particular message, or make the visual experience more or
less engaging?
• Editorial readings: What is the artist’s implied judgment about
the subject? What might this editorial message suggest about
the artist’s subjectivities (e.g., assumptions, values, commit-
ments) and social locations (e.g., social class, gender, ethnic-
ity)? What evidence supports these inferences?
What do these portraits tell us about their subjects, their author, the viewer?
236 Walter Werner
• Indexical readings: What social attitudes and cultural values

and beliefs does the author seem to accept or reject? How
might the conventions used in this portrait reflect broader so-
cial attitudes, stereotypes and practices taken for granted in
that time and place? Is the image ideological by design and in
its effects? What is the evidence?
• Spectatorship readings: How is the viewer positioned by the au-
thor? What are the physical and psychological standpoints of-
fered, and who seems to be the assumed ideal viewer? Why
should we accept or reject this positioning? In what ways are
viewers addressed? How does the subject acknowledge viewers?
How are poses, looks and expressions used for effect? Why are
these modes of address (not) effective?
3. What does the portrait tell us about the viewer?
• Reading of effects: What effects does this portrait have on us?
(e.g., persuasion, surveillance/enforcement, reinforcement of
stereotypes or social norms.) In what sense does the image
(not) have “power”? How might the textbook’s selection and
uses of these portraits reinforce ideology?
• Reflexive readings: What do our reactions and interpretations
imply about us? (e.g., about our values, assumptions, commit-
ments, expectations, stereotypes, beliefs)? How are our reac-
tions influenced by prior life experiences within social
locations (e.g., ethnicity, social class, nationality, sexual orien-
tation, religious upbringing)? Why might viewers from other
locations, parts of the country, or the past interpret differently?
All interpretations are not equally compelling when judged against cri-
teria such as plausibility (does the interpretation fit the evidence?) and
insightfulness (does the interpretation deepen our understanding of the
image?). Because richness of meaning depends on what interpreters
bring to a picture, an impoverished knowledge leads to shallow interpre-
tations. But the give-and-take of classroom discussion is ideally suited for
clarifying and expanding interpretations, and for adjudicating amongst
competing views, where the goal is to enhance thoughtfulness by having
students explain their views in the light of supporting evidence.
Further Reading and Resources

A History of Portraiture. (2004). Available at http://www.netkin.com/portraits/
history/history1.php3
Artcyclopedia: Artists Specializing in Portraits. Available at www.artcyclopedia.
com/subjects/Portraits.html
Canadian Museum of Civilization. Available at http://www.civilization.ca

Facing portraiture. (2004). Albany: New York Albany Institute of History and Art.
Available at http://www.albanyinstitute.org/resources/portraits/portraits.
overview.htm
National Portrait Gallery, Australia. Available: http://www.portrait.gov.au/
content/menu.htm
National Portrait Gallery, Britain. Available: http://www.npg.org.uk/live/index.asp
(Most comprehensive collection in the world.)
National Gallery of Art, USA. Available: http://www.nga.gov/collection/index.
shtm
National Portrait Gallery, USA. Available: http://www.npg.si.edu/
Portrait Gallery of Canada. Available at http://www.portraits.gc.ca/009001-1000e.
html
Portraiture. (2004). In Columbia Encyclopedia (6th ed.). Available at http://www.
encyclopedia.com/html/p1/portrait.asp
Portraiture. (2004). Washington, DC: National Gallery of Art. Available at
http://www.nga.gov/education/american/portraiture.htm
Virtual Museum of Canada. Available at http://www.virtualmuseum.ca/English/
index_flash.html
Werner, W. (2004b). Towards visual literacy. In A. Sears & I. Wright (Eds.), Chal-
lenges & prospects for Canadian social studies (pp. 202–215). Vancouver, BC:
Pacific Educational Press.
Notes
1. The word “idea” has its etymological roots in a Greek verb meaning
“to see” (Jenks, 1995, p. 1).
2. Although the literature of visual culture draws its language and modes of
analyses from diverse social theories, the focus is on the social practices of pro-
ducing, circulating, using, and interpreting images, whether displayed on bodies,
in homes, in public places, through screens and video games, or within galleries
and museums. As Bryson, Holly and Moxey (1994, p. xvi) state, visual culture’s in-
terest lies in understanding “the work performed by the image in the life of a cul-
ture.” Commercial ads, for example, do much more than persuade viewers of
new products; they are also used to create, reinforce, or challenge collective
meanings regarding group identities, national issues, historical events, and alter-
native futures. They have a hand in framing the very ways we see and make sense
of ourselves and others. For an introduction to visual culture, see Evans and Hall
(1999), Manguel (2000), Wells (2000, 2003), Mirzoeff (2002), Howells (2003).
3. Research shows that voters sometimes initially judge the potential “com-
petence” (intelligence, leadership, and maturity) of politicians from facial fea-
tures (Galloway, 2005). A competent-looking face is inferred from a strong jaw,
large nose, and long cheekbones, whereas a more immature face has a high fore-
head, soft chin and round eyes. Warren Harding, for example, displayed features
that made him look mature and “presidential,” even though his demonstrated
leadership strengths did not match his looks.
238 Walter Werner
4. For example, prominent smiles were not a convention of formal portraits

until the mid-twentieth century, and even today, most forms of personal identifi-
cation continue to be somber (e.g., driver’s licenses, passports, security passes,
police mug shots); by contrast, informal pictures cast their subjects as forever
smiling whether or not they felt that way.
References
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(pp. 42–57). London: Routledge.
Berger, J. (1972). Ways of seeing. Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin.
Bryson, N., Holly, M., & Moxey, K. (Eds.). (1994). Visual culture. Images and inter-
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Burke, P. (2001). Eyewitnessing: Uses of images as historical evidence. Ithaca, NY: Cor-
nell University Press.
Cotter, H. (2004, November 26). A party of Renaissance personalities. The New
York Times. Retrieved November 26, 2004, from http://www.nytimes.com/
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CHAPTER 12
“A WORLD OF KNOWLEDGE”
SOCIAL EDUCATION AND DIGITAL TECHNOLOGY
Brenda Trofanenko
Recently many social educators have felt a subtle yet powerful disciplinary
pressure to become more technologically advanced. In an era of increas-
ing availability of digital source materials directed to educators by public
institutions, this has meant an emphasis on using these sources in social
studies classrooms. Increased availability of source materials—including
the online materials available from museum, archives, and libraries—has
also prompted changes to how we use these materials in our classrooms.
For social educators, the most disturbing outcome of this situation has
been the increasing presence of self-contained lesson plans and units on
institutional Web sites and the move by some public institutions to em-
brace and advance what they consider to be their educational role in pub-
lic education. As a result, social educators are struggling to understand
the role digital initiatives have in transferring texts and images to virtual
sites in the electronic medium. Not the least among these challenges are
the ways we consider how we utilize such texts and how particular knowl-
edge is developed and advanced through digital technologies.
As Hayden White (1987) observed, “[n]ew methods authorize new
ways of looking at texts, of inscribing texts within discourses . . . and of
linking both texts and discourses to their contexts” (p. 4). Writing when
current digital technologies were still in their infancy, White may not
have foreseen the ways in which rapidly evolving technologies of the last
five years have influenced education generally and social education
specifically. In a remarkable short space of time, digital technology has
allowed for the preservation of texts and images with a high degree of
precision and with extraordinary accessibility. Although projects such as
241
242 Brenda Trofanenko
the Library of Congress’ American Memories, the British Museum’s Elec-

tronic Beowolf, and George Mason University’s Center for History and
New Media’s World History Matters,1 among others, provide unprece-
dented public access to once privately held treasured materials, such
media traverses the boundaries established by disciplines including edu-
cation and the humanities and social sciences and raises questions about
defining the larger pedagogy purposes.
As cultural heritage institutions take the next step in extending their
educational imperative by digitizing their holdings, they seek to affirm
and increase their public educational value as a means to support their
public relevance and institutional missions. The focus is on creating
large amounts of digital content and providing access tools aimed pri-
marily at the classroom teacher and students, rather than on sophisti-
cated systems for ongoing use or interpretation by museum professions
(Lynch, 2002). For the field of social education, this advent of digital
technology has provided not only an abundance of digital source mate-
rials, but also a new means to further extend the pedagogical practices
that define our discipline (see, for example, Berson, 2001; Mason et al.,
2001; Lee, 2002). Such a move within these public institutions is para-
doxical: the abundance of digital source materials reinforces the institu-
tions’ particular pedagogical intent while it makes clear their particular
way of engaging with such sources. An institutional awareness of how dig-
ital sources and technologies interconnect with the fundamental pur-
pose of social studies education is evident in how they intentionally steer
both teachers and students.
Digital source materials, offered through both the large-scale Web
sites of established heritage institutions such as the Library of Congress,
the British Library, and the Smithsonian Institute, and through such por-
tals as MERLOT (www.merlot.org), for example, has become a ubiqui-
tous reference point in social studies education. Yet, too often, using
digital content to invigorate social studies marks the point at which re-
flection on the medium is displaced in favor of the imaginary usefulness
of source materials. This illustrates a key educational dimension of the
ascendancy of digital content; that is, the problematic relationship be-
tween the intended pedagogical purposes of these sites and our own ways
of utilizing them. This problematic relationship invites questions we
need to ask about audiences and user communities and the methods we
are engaging in while exploiting these resources (Borgman, 2000). How
we use digital content in our classrooms is an activity rarely opened up to
detailed analysis.2 Questions about how digital content sources shape so-
cial education remains for the most part unexamined. How will this new
approach require us to think differently about the collections and the
dissemination of digital sources for the benefit of education? In this
“A World of Knowledge” 243
chapter, I make two points regarding the use of technologies particular

to drawing on digital source materials. First, I caution against too hastily
concluding that digital technologies will reaffirm the purposes of social
studies education. In order to understand what is happening in social
studies education we need to examine how it is that the primary source
documents serves the basis of technological use in the social studies class-
room. Second, I argue that technology in the social studies classroom
must be understood according to the needs of social studies educators,
to realize not only the usefulness such technologies provide but also the
pedagogical limitations.
Primacy of the Source

Primary source documents have been reinforced as a significant compo-
nent of social education. As noted in a recent edition of Social Education
(2002), which celebrates the role of documents in social studies curricu-
lum and instruction over the last twenty five years, these primary source
documents give social education its relevance by affirming the interdisci-
plinary nature of the field and are suggestive of a definitive multidiscipli-
nary knowledge basis. Indeed, as a key element that supports the
interdisciplinary nature of social education, source materials allow for uti-
lizing elements from the various humanities and social science disciplines.
Yet, much of the call for using primary source documents in the classroom
is evident in the frequent and pointed appearance of drawing on docu-
ments to “bring history alive” in social educational contexts. One signifi-
cant aspect of this attitude is the unproblematic consideration of the
primary source document as a commodity that can, and should, be easily
used in our classrooms. The link between primary source documents and
increased student interest—and, it follows, increased engagement in learn-
ing—has fueled a boom in the advancement of historical understanding
through new information technologies. We know that the source material
available through digital technologies is not limited to primary sources
that serve as the grist for social studies education. As result we need to con-
sider how to use the wide variety of documents from public institutions,
beyond the primary historical sources, in social studies classrooms.
In writing at the beginning of the twentieth century about the signifi-
cance texts possess, philosopher Hans Georg Gadamer notes that texts
“contain a pure spirit that speaks to us in an eternal presence. In knowing
how to read what is transmitted, we are parting of and achieving the pure
presence of the past” (cited in Assman, 1996, p. 126). Primary source ma-
terials are not solely objects of the past. Rather, they have become—at least
in social studies education—a means through which we have sought to ac-
tively engage our students. This change in the format, from the physical
space of an archive to an online digital source poses an important question

about the effect of this new media on the textuality of material sources: In
what ways have digital sources undermined strict distinctions between the
image and knowledge to be gained from the image?
The primacy the source holds has been affirmed with increased use
of documents for social studies instruction. If we have tended to privilege
the use of source documents within social education, then the changes
occurring to the form of source documents holds importance to our dis-
cipline and the ways in which we utilize this technology. Digital sources
that are pushed to the center of attention in social education as a result
from technological changes within the broader public realm makes it in-
cumbent for us to carefully consider the media of communication. The
sheer abundance of sources available through digital technology serves a
double-edged purpose. The technology makes available these once pri-
vate materials in which we seek to engage the students as directed, for ex-
ample, by our disciplinary standards (see, for example, NCSS [2000]
technology standards). Yet, absent is any direct reference to or consider-
ation of how to use such technology in the most pedagogically sound
manner. What results is an increased use of digital primary sources with-
out any sense of whether the digital technology impacts their understand-
ing of the past.
At first glance, the digital technology evolution within cultural her-
itage institutions and its educational imperative seems self-evident. After
all, in noting the historically defined educational purpose of institutions
such as museums, libraries, and archives, cultural critic Tony Bennett
(1995, p. 33) remarks that institutions’ relevance lies in being simultane-
ously “epistemic and governmental”; that is, being both educational and
organized around defining and controlling the educational purpose.
Rather than being solely institutions that stir up wonder and surprise, cul-
tural heritage institutions are used as sources for “the increase of knowl-
edge and for the culture and enlightenment of the people” (Goode,
1895, p. 3). The educational intent of museums has remained principle
over the last one hundred years as cultural heritage institutions move
away from the initial research mission to examining their collections, ex-
hibition practices, and educational missions. Even though these institu-
tions reflect, what Udden (1912, p. 10) noted many years ago, the parallel
“growth of our national wealth,” they are still faced with questions partic-
ular to their sustainability and ongoing relevance to the general public.
One way of supporting and advancing cultural heritage institutions’
roles in society is moving to make their collections more public—and
more accessible. As these institutions continue to work on sharing and
expanding a world of knowledge, they have engaged in large-scale digiti-
zation projects. Various agencies, including the federally funded Institu-
tion of Museum and Library Services (IMLS) and the National Endow-
ment for the Humanities (NEH), have worked to establish programs that
utilize the full capacity of cultural heritage institutions through digital
projects. Recent scholarship within the library and information science
disciplines has also driven the museum community to engage with digi-
tal technologies.3 Digitization has become a defining characteristic for
these institutions. The results are standard: the institution identifies
source objects and documents from within their collections and pro-
duces a particular collection of digital sources through which the public
educational community ought to be able to learn. Many institutions have
committed to extending their educational imperative into the digital
medium through institutional Web sites, which have served as a portal
through which educators can access particular portions of collections
within a particular educational outcome as defined by the institution
(see Korteweg & Trofanenko, 2002). What results is frequently a parallel
section evident on the Web site that explicitly lays out how the general
public needs to use the sources in order to learn.
In considering this changing landscape of cultural heritage institu-
tions—from the material presence in the institution to the digital plat-
form available on the Web—scholars in various fields including library
and information sciences, art history, and history have recently begun to
attend to the implications of digital sources as a system for learning that,
far from simply being available on the Web environment, holds with it a
great deal of social and educational import. This line of research asks the
academic community to consider the educational impact the digital
move holds for the museum, library, and archival disciplines—from
being solely the repositories of material sources to producing digital
source materials as something more than solely elemental textual ob-
jects. The effect of digital technology on source documents can, in this
case, be examined against recent critical discussions about the use of
source documents generally and the necessity for contextualizing source
documents particularly.
A World of Knowledge
The larger project of digitalization within the museum community rep-
resents one of the most comprehensive undertakings within the last ten
years, with no sign of slowing down. This near universalization of digital
technologies raises numerous theoretical and practical concerns both
within and beyond the institutions. Within the institutional community,
much of the current focus is particular to standardization within the
larger community—through such efforts as the Open Archives Initiative
(www.openarchives.org) and the Online Computer Library Center
(www.oclc.org)—and specialized metadata vocabularies (a standardiza-

tion of what information needs to be included with digital sources). De-
spite the technological elements that continue to be foremost in the
current research, there is a need to justify the digitization project in the-
oretical terms, mainly by drawing on the pedagogical aspects such a
project will advance.
There is a general assumption within education that suggests the use
of digital technologies is undoubted and undoubtedly good. In the in-
stance of social studies education, technology is conceptualized primar-
ily as necessary for teachers who need to provide “developmentally
appropriate experiences” as they guide the students in “the study of tech-
nology” (NCSS, 1997). Along with the increasing pressure from local
school districts, statewide mandates, and federally sponsored programs
for integrating technology in teacher education programs, the focus re-
mains on teacher-utilization of technology to deepen the students’ social
studies understanding. Certainly, the focus on integration and utilization
of technology in the classroom is dependent on the teacher. The con-
cerns about how the teacher adopts technology in the classroom are not
new, as noted in various case studies (see, for example, Cuban, 2001;
Zhao et al., 2002) and large-scale surveys (Becker, 1998, 2000a, 2000b).
Technology use by teachers is often framed in a rhetoric that sug-
gests teachers may need to reevaluate their understanding of teaching in
order to appreciate what technology has to offer (Bryson et al., 2002).
This seems to work from a deficit model of education, in which student
learning would be improved if only teachers gained a degree of expertise
and adequate preparation and would stop resisting technology use in the
classroom. Such teacher “resistance” results from, I would argue, an un-
conscious response to the implied overall philosophy of the unques-
tioned value technology offers, rather than the resistance to practical
demands of time, organization, resource management, and whether or
not school boards can only provide sufficient technology resources.
The resistance argument is not limited to education generally or so-
cial studies education specifically. For public institutions, there is a need
to justify the digitization project, mainly by drawing on pedagogy and the
educational importance such a project serves for the public. This seems
to be shadowed by an appreciation that the potential for learning from
the sources is not in doubt. After all, it is suggested, what is lacking is the
confidence on the part of the educator to implement it. What results,
then, is the digitization of sources with concurrent educational activities
and projects particular to the sources. Such a didactic form appears to
hover between the institution maintaining the inherently traditional role
of expert and the unquestioned knowledge the ideal source holds. All
too often, social studies teachers are absent from how institutions
develop a platform of educational use. Rather, how to use the site often
lies beyond the knowledge and expertise of teacher and their ability to
transfer the content into a learning experience for the student.
Focusing on teacher involvement (or lack thereof) diverts attention
away from the impact student use of technology might have on learning.
It is not enough to focus solely on the engagement of students in using
source materials in yet another form in an effort to advance an under-
standing of the disciplinary use of such sources.4 Do we need another
study that suggests that by using digital source documents, for example,
students become adept in the disciplinary techniques and rather than
simply knowing the facts of history and historical narratives, that the stu-
dents engage in ‘doing history’ (Yeager & Wilson, 1997; Bohan & Davis,
1998)? This recent scholarship continues to advance the power the indi-
vidual source holds to learning rather than engaging in questioning the
educational benefits such sources would provide. Certainly, there are
pedagogical reservations about digital sources and their educational ben-
efits and we need to place these reservations in a wider context (see, for
example, Berson et al., 2001; Mason et al., 2001). But our interest in dig-
ital technology seems to have remained focused on learning outcomes in
utilizing online source materials, rather than on understanding the pur-
pose of the sources themselves.
Learning from the digital source rather than questioning the educa-
tional benefits such sources provide separates the learning from the
larger issues of online design and learning processes. As Deegan and
Tanner (2002) note, the meaning of digital sources depends as much on
how individual data objects are linked as on what those objects are. Cer-
tainly, meanings re-created in our classrooms will differ from original
meanings, but this is generally the case in the interpretation of the past,
which is always interpreted through our own historical moment. Given
the popularity of the idea that digital sources might advance knowledge,
it is important that we consider the nature of digital sources, and the
changes it brings to our encounters with sources (Bishop et al., 2003).
Because of our new capacity to access digital sources, it has produced a
new decorum that allows us both to look at and read through the text.
Concluding Thoughts
My aim in this chapter is to promote more critical analysis by social stud-
ies educators about digital information compiled by cultural heritage in-
stitutions, from which we can investigate understanding of student
engagement and learning. I begin by positing what social studies educa-
tors need to ask of themselves and their students in order to understand
how we can question what learning is formulated and advanced within
and beyond digital sources. I have suggested that social educators ques-
tion the historically affirmed educational role of cultural heritage institu-
tions, to take advantage of the large-scale digitization projects occurring
within the discipline, and to work in developing and advancing with stu-
dents a critical view of the digital technologies as a space for learning.
From the perspective of critical social educators, the last ten years
can be seen as a time when there has been a productive rethinking of the
relationship between the digital technology and the social studies cur-
riculum, but the project remains unfinished. Extensive efforts have been
directed toward strengthening and fostering public access to the expan-
sive digital source materials. However, little space has been devoted to
discussing the implications of new epistemologies for classroom practice
and pedagogical theory. Digital source materials are still overwhelmingly
treated instrumentally: that is, they are considered a source that is un-
problematically made available, as a commodity that can be readily ac-
cessed for the purpose of learning. While public heritage institutions
continue to work within the institutional and professional limits posed by
the fundamental principle of museum development—that is, the un-
questioned attachment to the objects, the displays, and the knowledge to
be gained from both—they are also seeking to provide access to their
sources as part of their educational mission. But the assumption that any
digital object should be an object of knowledge is a symptom of these in-
stitutions desire to be a guarantor of authoritative meaning of, say, a past
of which it is only a remnant.
The current challenges facing social studies educators, among others,
is that of being a relevant school subject in an educational system where lit-
eracy standards remain foremost. This situation has encouraged a closer
relationship between social studies curriculum and heritage institutions via
digital technology. Currently, the prerogative of defining learning with
digital source materials resides primarily with the institutional technical
designers, and not with educators. Our role, then, is to be aware of and act
on the fact that knowledge production does not end with digitized object.
This realization, I believe, holds promise for social educators, the social
education curriculum, and the students in our classrooms.
By making of learning with digitized objects problematic and by ex-
tending the work of library and information scientists (see Digicult,
www.digicult.info, and OCLC), the social studies curriculum can be
more active and collaborative and digital learning in social studies can
move beyond the once-static digital Web site. A curriculum collaboration
among cultural heritage institutions, teachers, and students, suggests
new ways to talk about the once reiterative museum-teacher-student re-
lationship and can move us beyond the current didactic forms of digital
learning. Increased awareness of how and why to look critically at what
knowledge is presented in the digital form and the context in which it is

defined is the crucial first step. Working with students to examine how
digital sources remain prominent for cultural heritage institutions also
means learning about technology.
The digital source materials available on institutional Web sites nor-
malize a particular learning style. This is often the same learning style
that is maintained and advanced in the physical space of the museum, li-
brary, and archive. These institutions are successful by winning over ed-
ucators and students alike to their institutional practices and their
didactic learning style. To be critical of these practices means having the
capacity to enable a rethinking of the larger purpose such institutions
hold, not solely as object repositories but, more generative, as an institu-
tion that can broker and negotiate knowledge within and across spatial
boundaries. Whether the intent of learning in these institutions is rooted
in the historically affirmed purpose, presumptions about what counts as
a learning activity need to be derived from questions about the roles and
responsibilities to learning by the institution and the teachers and stu-
dents who use their sites.
The learning that is brokered by these institutions has significant im-
plications for social studies. The issues we need to address undergird the
larger public discussions occurring in the United States about social stud-
ies education generally. When a public museum makes available digital
source materials that directs both the educator and the student in a nor-
mative way of utilizing the site, can social educators support classroom
work without providing a critical response to how the digital technolo-
gies and their uses have been normalized? While we may attempt to try to
develop the skill of working with source materials, a more pressing issue
is the role such institutions hold in how we develop knowledge. Taking a
critical approach to digital source material involves recognizing that the
conditions under which the institutions developed such sites.
This, I believe, is where social studies educators ought to move.
There needs to be a change in how we consider and subsequently utilize
institutional Web sites and their digital source materials. The activities
and Web sites presuppose a lack of knowledge by the teacher. Becker
(1998) notes that students are provided with relatively few opportunities
to use computers during classroom activities. Yet, the majority of our stu-
dents actively engage with computers outside of the classroom. Our role,
then, is to advance learning activities within the classroom with reference
to what can be recognized as a particular use of digital technologies with
specific epistemic purposes.
For social studies, this means a structure that links together the knowl-
edge with the source material, which is then placed in a context for learn-
ing. This context would explain the how and the why of the relationship
between the object and the information known about the object. We can
all look at a painting, read a label, or go through a museum catalog. But
what is often missing is the necessary background information needed to
make it a learning experience. So, for example, a painting holds the
weight of its own history and that of the period in which it was painted.
But, this is not to ignore the relationship the painting holds to a student in
Urbana, Illinois, nor to a senior citizen in New York City. My point is that
to be able to utilize digital source materials, we need to shift the traditional
relationship between the digital site (and the institution) and the teacher
and student. I suggest challenging the institutions to develop a more
democratic space for learning, where everyone can become an expert and
where individuals may learn from one another.
My hope is to extend the pedagogical significance of digital source
materials and institutional sites currently advanced by cultural heritage
institutes and used as part of the social studies curriculum. Fundamen-
tal to acknowledging the pedagogical significance is also acknowledging
how a more open and active collaboration between the institution and
those interested individuals within the public realm will automatically
yield a different learning experience. We need to contextualize the dig-
ital space. And, more effectively involve curators, archivists, librarians,
educational program managers as well as scholars, teachers, and stu-
dents, in questioning the boundary between the objects and its digital
environment to allow for and provide different but appropriate ap-
proaches for various levels and domains of learning. The agenda for
change should strongly concentrate on applications utilizing digital
technologies that enhance experiences and novel ways of imparting
knowledge. It should focus on fostering learning at all levels. So, for ex-
ample, when visiting a digital exhibit it is possible to access other paint-
ings from the same artist in he same time period from the same school
from which the curator, the student, the historian could all contribute
to an open forum that contributes to generating a narrative about
provenance, and personal experience.
The learning defined through digital technologies presupposes ho-
mogenization, even as we realize the increasing diversity of teachers and
students in our classrooms. In realizing such diversity, our roles as social ed-
ucators involve empowering teachers and students and valuing their power
of critical thought toward the objectification of knowledge. Teachers can be
instrumental, for example, in collecting digital artifacts or scientific data,
and in building on and enriching shared knowledge. To embrace the par-
ticipatory nature of knowledge and to invite an active and critical engage-
ment with the world through which students can come to question the
authority of institutions through digital technologies will hopefully result in
students realizing that the dynamic nature of digital source materials. The
discussions about learning through digital technologies in cultural heritage

institutions need to move beyond debates about what knowledge is created
through object-centered learning (Paris, 2002), and through contextual
models of learning (Falk & Dierkling, 2000). Rather, social education
should imagine the digital site as a forum for critique. This requires moving
beyond the assumption that incorporating digital source materials into the
curriculum amounts to ground breaking pedagogy. The changing contexts
within the public realm have brought new opportunities for us to work
through the educational implications digital technology in social studies
classrooms. And, give us a point from which to continue productive study,
discussion, and learning in the realm of social education.
Notes
1. Library of Congress’ American Memories: http://memory.loc.gov/ammem/;
British Museum’s Electronic Beowolf: http://www.bl.uk/collections/treasures/
beowulf.html; George Mason University’s Center for History and New Media’s
World History Matters: http://chnm.gmu.edu/worldhistorymatters/
2. This is not to suggest that there is a void of any research within social
studies education specific to the use of online sources. Rather, much critical and
engaging work has been done within the last five year. Of particular interest is
work by David Hicks (2002), John Lee (2002), Cheryl Mason et al. (2001).
3. It is not within the scope of this paper to outline the historical develop-
ment of digital technology within the cultural heritage community. What is sig-
nificant, however, is the role that libraries and information sciences have
assumed in developing such technologies and the broad utilization within the
museum and library disciplines. See, for example, Normore (2003), Ray (2004),
and Yakel (2004).
4. There continue to be issues and questions about access and what materi-
als are made available for the teacher and student within the social studies class-
room. I am not going to dismiss the cogent arguments made particular to access
based on issues of gender, race, and class. Rather, I wish to suggest that the pres-
ence of digital sources becomes an issue of engagement for the purposes of de-
veloping knowledge not only about what the source seeks to represent but also of
the ubiquitous place digital source materials hold in social studies education. See
Borgman’s (2000) writings particular to issues of access.
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CHAPTER 13
“OUT” IN THE CLASSROOM
ADDRESSING LESBIAN, GAY, BISEXUAL,
AND TRANSGENDER (LGBT)
ISSUES IN SOCIAL STUDIES CURRICULUM
Kevin Jennings
A “Real World” that Exists Everywhere—

But in Our Classrooms
Today’s students live in a world where issues of sexual orientation and
gender identity are front page, prime-time realities. Whether they are
watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy or Will & Grace, listening to politi-
cians pontificate on “gay marriage,” or seeing posters in the hallway for
meetings of their school’s Gay-Straight Student Alliance club (now active
in more than 15% of all secondary schools in the United States), today’s
students know lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) people are
part of our society. As one conservative wag recently put it, “The love that
once dared not speak its name now can’t shut up.”
There is an old Chinese curse—“May you live in interesting times”—
and, as both a history teacher and a gay person, I seem to be doubly
cursed at this moment in history. In an era when all subjects are being
asked to demonstrate their “relevance” as measured by standardized test
scores, ours is under particular pressure, as it does not easily or automati-
cally translate into an employable skill. While I love the study of the social
sciences as a purely intellectual endeavor, I also understand that they are
required study in high schools because of the hope that students will
come to understand the world in which they live and how it came to be. I
agree this is a valid reason for requiring two years of social studies, as most
states do. However, if we all agree that the purpose of social studies is to
255
256 Kevin Jennings
help students “understand the world in which they live and how it came to
be,” as a gay person, I have to ask, “Where’s the rest of me?”
The fact is, there is a complete disconnect between the “real world”
for which social studies classes prepare students and the curriculum of
those classes, at least when it comes to LGBT issues. A 2002 study by the
Gay, Lesbian, Straight Education Network (GLSEN) found that the
most popular history textbooks in America are almost completely de-
void of LGBT-related content. A content analysis of thirteen of the
most widely used high school U.S. history textbooks found that only
four directly address gay and lesbian issues; only two provide photo-
graphic representations of gay and lesbian themes; and just two refer-
ence “Gays and Lesbians” or “Gay and Lesbian Rights” in the index or
table of contents. (None of the textbooks address bisexual or transgen-
der topics.) Overall, there was less than one page of text (0.9 of a page,
to be exact) that directly addressed LGBT issues of 12,530 total pages
of text (Hirschfeld, 2002).
The consequences of this “erasure” are clearly negative. In its 2001
National School Climate Survey, GLSEN found that 80.6% of LGBT stu-
dents reported that there were no positive portrayals of LGBT people,
history, or events in any of their classes. For the fortunate few who did
have such inclusion, they were 27% more likely to report that they felt
like they belonged in their school than those who did not (Kosciw &
Cullen, 2002). For those who think “we don’t have any gay students in
our school,” keep in mind that, in a 2004 poll of high school students,
5% self-identified as gay (Widmeyer, 2004). This percentage may even be
higher, given that many students may have been reluctant to disclose
such information to a pollster.
Although the impact of this erasure is clearest for LGBT students,
non-LGBT students are done a disservice by it as well. LGBT people are
not “strangers” to today’s high school students: 16% of high school stu-
dents report having a gay family member, 30% have a close friend who is
gay, and 48% have a gay classmate (Widmeyer, 2004). The “real world” in
which they live includes LGBT people, yet the curriculum that is suppos-
edly designed to prepare them to live in that “real world” does not even ac-
knowledge the existence of such people. No wonder so many non-LGBT
students react with fear or hostility when they encounter LGBT people, or
engage in ignorant behavior like saying “that’s so gay” to describe things
they do not like. Non-LGBT students are poorly educated as to the reality
of a world where LGBT people are an ongoing presence and hence cope
poorly with it, creating hostile school climates where four out of five LGBT
students report being routinely harassed because of their sexual orienta-
tion and/or gender identity (Kosciw, 2004), engaging in discriminatory
behavior, and perpetrating hate-motivated violence.
“Out” in the Classroom 257
Although invisibility is a curse, the current ways that LGBT issues are
included in texts (on the rare occasions that they are) are hardly a bless-
ing. The GLSEN content study of American history textbooks found that,
when LGBT themes are discussed, they never predate World War II and
are typically in relation to events like the Holocaust, the Civil Rights
Movement of the 1960s and 1970s, the HIV/AIDS epidemic, and the
Conservative Movement of the 1980s. Although some texts manage a de-
tached and unprejudiced discussion of lesbian and gay themes when ad-
dressing these topics, the overall pattern is one of omission, inaccuracy,
and bias that spans the range from inadvertent to blatant, and which can
be categorized in the following ways.
• Homosexuals—A Faceless Opposition: Shockingly, not one of the

thirteen texts identifies an LGBT figure by name, and LGBT people
are rarely seen as protagonists in their struggle for their own rights
• Homosexuality as Counter-Culture, wherein the portrayal of
LGBT people and issues in only as “contrary” to mainstream values
• Gay ⴝ Sin, Sex, and Sickness: Though no textbook directly labels
LGBT people as “mentally ill,” the unspoken associations between
LGBT people and sinful behavior, between homosexuality and
promiscuity, and the clumsy lumping of the movement for LGBT
rights with issues like casual sex, abortion, and birth control, tend
to link the LGBT struggle for civil rights with behaviors and issues
that are at the least properly dealt with as medical issues and, at
the worst, are seen as distasteful by many. (Hirschfeld, 2002)
If the only portrayals of LGBT people and issues that make it past text-
book adoption boards are ones like this, I am inclined to agree with my
Mom, who used to say, “If you haven’t got anything nice to say, maybe it’s
best to say nothing at all.”
It is clear that I am an advocate for greater inclusion of LGBT themes
in the social studies classroom. But this does not mean I am ignorant of
the reservations of those who have misgivings about so doing. Some read-
ers may object as they feel we should not use “history as therapy” and
somehow twist events of the past just to boost the self-esteem of today’s
students. Others may agree that inclusion is necessary but wonder how
they can fit in one more thing, given all the topics they are expected to
cover to prepare students for AP tests or similar standardized instruments.
Some just may feel that this is totally new territory where they lack the
skills to teach effectively. To all of you I say, do not worry: including LGBT
issues can be done in an historically accurate way, within existing curricu-
lum, and can be used to teach the skills we as social studies teachers have
always been expected to teach.
258 Kevin Jennings
Strategies for Inclusion

Telling the Truth About the People We Already Talk About
LGBT people are everywhere in our curriculum. We just do not ac-
knowledge them as such. All thirteen U.S. history texts in the GLSEN
content-analysis study consistently profiled LGBT figures whose identi-
ties factor significantly into their work and contributions, but which are
completely obfuscated by the textbooks. A list of LGBT people included
in the overwhelming majority of textbooks, but whose LGBT identity is
never acknowledged, would include Jane Addams, Susan B. Anthony,
James Baldwin, J. Edgar Hoover, Langston Hughes, and Eleanor Roo-
sevelt. It is truly an astonishing feat that the publishers of more than
12,000 pages of U.S. history have managed to dispense with every impor-
tant LGBT individual and ally—the celebrated, the infamous, and all
shades in-between (Hirschfeld, 2002).
A classic case in point is Walt Whitman. In American History: The Early
Years to 1877, the text reads:
. . . Walt Whitman attempted to speak for all Americans. His verses glori-
fied women, sailors, pioneers, city dwellers and presidents . . . (Broussard
& Ritchie, 1999)
The text fails to mention that Whitman also glorified romantic friend-
ship between men—a prevalent theme in Leaves of Grass—and fails to ex-
plore the premodern attitudes toward homosexuality exemplified by
Whitman’s writing. Though Whitman never directly advocated same-sex
erotic love, his celebrations of “the need of comrades” and of “athletic”
and “manly friendship” are understood by contemporary historians to
constitute a kind of early homosexual manifesto. The major U.S. history
textbooks may praise Whitman’s “American spirit” and his celebration of
“freedom and democracy,” but all fall short of exploring this vision of
America captured in the Democratic Vistas section of Leaves of Grass:
Many will say it is a dream, and will not follow my inferences: but I con-
fidently expect a time when there will be seen, running like a half-hid
warp through all the myriad audible and visible worldly interests of
America, threads of manly friendship, fond and loving, pure and sweet,
strong and life-long, carried to degrees hitherto unknown . . . (quoted
in Miller, 1995)
To teach Whitman without acknowledging these pervasive themes in his

work is nothing less than dishonest and inaccurate, yet it is the standard
way in which he is presented in most classrooms in America.
Many educators respond to requests to acknowledge the sexual ori-

entations of historical figures with an incredulous “Why would I do that?
I don’t tell my students that people in the past were straight, so why
would I tell them some were gay?” When I hear this response, I have two
replies. The first is “Get real.” We acknowledge the heterosexuality of his-
torical figures all the time. If we did not acknowledge that Henry VIII
had multiple wives and thus had a vested interest in breaking free of the
Catholic Church so he could set up a Church of England that he would
be the head of (and that would then grant him a divorce), we would have
a difficult time explaining the Protestant Reformation in England. Stu-
dents learn that Antony had Cleopatra, that George Washington had
Martha, and that Edward VII was willing to give up the throne for Wallis
Simpson. This inclusion is commonplace and ordinary—so ordinary,
that we do not even realize we do it. My second reaction is “you don’t
have to tell students who’s straight, people already assume everyone is.”
“Heterosexism,” or the unconscious assumption that everyone is hetero-
sexual unless it is otherwise explicitly stated, is an assumption that un-
derlies our teaching of the past. Unless this false assumption is
counteracted by pointing out the individuals in the historical record
about whom it is incorrect, students will come to believe that LGBT peo-
ple are some kind of ahistorical “freak” development of modern times.
As Orwell put it in 1984, “Those who control the present, control the
past: those who control the past, control the future.” If we, teaching in
the present, allow LGBT people to be written out of the past historical
record by heterosexism and the omission of crucial facts about individu-
als (consciously or unconsciously), we make it hard for young people to
understand their presence in today’s society, much less envision a future
where people of all sexual orientations might live in harmony (which, I
hasten to add, has happened in the past!).
For even well-meaning educators, there is a bit of discomfort with
this kind of “compensatory” inclusion, as it can feel gratuitous. To many,
it smacks of the “bad old days” in the 1960s when lily-white textbooks
were “colored” by the awkward inclusion of “important” people of color,
with little context or explanation. For instance, there is a poster showing
faces of famous figures like Cole Porter and Langston Hughes with the
tag line “Unfortunately, History has set the record a little too straight.”
Hanging up such a poster can certainly be an important counterbalance
to the pervasive heterosexism of texts and classrooms. However, such
measures have obvious limitations. A more effective technique is to ex-
plore how the sexual orientation of an historical figure shaped their acts.
For example, in understanding the McCarthy Era, the fact that Mc-
Carthy’s chief strategist, Roy Cohn, was a closeted gay man who grew up
260 Kevin Jennings
in a period when the only route to power for gay men was through denial
of their sexual orientation (and when extreme self-hatred was the norm
for many), can help students understand why the targeting of gays was a
central component of McCarthy’s “witch hunts.” Although it is both ap-
propriate and helpful to acknowledge the sexual orientation of LGBT
historical figures (if for no other reason than to dispel the idea that
everyone was straight until Ellen DeGeneres came out on her TV show),
it is both more effective to do so when their sexual orientation can be
used to help students better understand their life and times.
Broadening our Teaching of Historic Events To Be Inclusive of the

LGBT Experience
As one of the founders of LGBT History Month (celebrated in schools
and communities across America each October since 1994), I understand
and respect the importance of such vehicles in drawing attention to his-
tories that are often otherwise overlooked or undervalued. As a teacher,
though, I also recognize the limitations of this approach. First, our cur-
riculum is already overcrowded: the idea that we are going to set aside
days to address “gay history” is probably not going to happen, due to the
many things we are expected to cover already. But a deeper concern is
that, by addressing such topics as LGBT history only on “special days,” we
perpetuate the idea that LGBT people are somehow separate from the
historical narrative rather than woven into it. LGBT people have lived in
all eras and all times, and their experience should be seen and under-
stood within the dominant narrative we present to our students.
There are two essential strategies by which we can include LGBT
themes into the dominant narrative. The first is to use LGBT-related con-
tent to help students understand the dominant narrative. For example,
the story of the seventeenth-century Puritan minister and writer Michael
Wigglesworth as told in Out of the Past can be used effectively to foster dis-
cussion about the New England colonies and their culture. Wigglesworth
authored The Day of Doom, a chilling epic poem about the eternal damna-
tion that awaits sinners and the “best-selling” book of colonial America
after the Bible itself. Wigglesworth also struggled throughout his life with
his same-sex sexual orientation, writing about it in a secret code in his
personal journals. Wigglesworth’s struggle to reconcile his personal life
with the demands of his culture, and his fear about expulsion from its
earthly “city on a hill,” and about facing damnation after death for eter-
nity in many ways mirrors a struggle all Puritans faced. In using Wig-
glesworth to illustrate these dynamics, a social studies teacher can
incorporate LGBT issues without making it a “gay history” lesson.
A second strategy is to help students understand how events in the
dominant narrative impacted the lives and experiences of LGBT people.
A case in point here is the treatment of World War II. Before the social
history movement took hold, the teaching of World War II focused mostly
on military history, ignoring the “home front.” Of late, however, we have
come to better understand how the upheaval that the demands of fight-
ing the war fostered in American society effected profound social change
at home. The pace of the African-American “Great Migration” from the
South to the North was accelerated by the wartime industrial expansion in
Northern cities, the need for labor to replace the men sent off to the front
brought many women into the workforce, and the expectation of full cit-
izenship among black veterans who had fought for freedom abroad but
did not have it at home fueled the postwar desegregation of the armed
forces as well as the civil rights movement of the 1950s and 1960s. None of
us today would consider the teaching of World War II complete if it talked
about Pearl Harbor, Midway, and the Battle of the Bulge but ignored
these important changes it also wrought at home.
Not surprisingly, an event this momentous had a profound effect on
LGBT Americans as well. As documented by historian Allan Berube in
his seminal work Coming Out Under Fire, World War II helped foster a new
consciousness among LGBT people. Gay men went from feeling isolated
to finding a community in the armed forces, where they met other gay
men for the first time in many cases. Lesbians took advantage of new job
opportunities as well as participation in the armed forces to establish
their economic independence and form stronger communities as well.
Upon “mustering out” at the end of the war, many LGBT veterans chose
to remain in the port cities where they disembarked rather than return
to the small towns form where they came, fostering the growth and visi-
bility of LGBT communities in cities like Los Angeles, New York, and San
Francisco. As a result of having served their country, many LGBT veter-
ans underwent a transformation akin to that of African-American veter-
ans, feeling more entitled to just treatment when they returned home.
They formed the first LGBT organization dedicated to fighting the un-
just treatment of LGBT people by the U.S. military in New York in 1945,
and veterans played key roles in the homophile civil rights movement
that emerged in the 1950s. By incorporating this content into our por-
trayal of World War Two II and its impact on America, we both present a
fuller, more accurate historical record and help students that LGBT peo-
ple, like all Americans, find their lives affected by the significant events of
our common history.
Teaching Basic Skills by Using LGBT-Related Materials.

Much of what we teach in social studies involves the mastery of basic
skills such as critical thinking, making and analyzing written and verbal
262 Kevin Jennings
arguments, reading primary historical documents, and conducting re-

search. Fortunately, there is no reason why LGBT topics cannot be used
to impart these skills, and there are plenty of opportunities where they
can be used effectively to do so.
The pervasiveness of LGBT topics in “current events” presents a won-
derful opportunity for teachers to use them to hone students’ ability to
think critically as well as to make and analyze verbal and written argu-
ments. The recent controversy over equal marriage rights for same-sex
couples (the erroneously dubbed “gay marriage” debate) is one example
that provides innumerable opportunities. Students could be given edito-
rials both for and against proposals to equalize rights between opposite-
sex and same-sex couples, and be asked to analyze the evidence and
rationale behind each. Students could then research the topic and write
their own editorials. Debates could be staged in classes, with students
assigned to argue each point of view. In light of recent efforts to amend
the U.S. Constitution to restrict marriage to opposite sex couples, stu-
dents could research the amendment process and the history of efforts to
amend the Constitution. In all of these, it is crucial to randomly assign
students to a point of view rather than to allow them to automatically
argue the one they already agree with. That way, the emphasis can be on
how good a job they have done researching the topic, framing their
argument, and selecting evidence to support it—not who is “right” or
“wrong,” which is a matter of individual belief and conscience. At the
end of the day, all students will be left with an appreciation for the dif-
ferent points of view involved in the debate, will (hopefully) have learned
to engage in civil discourse on a controversial subject (a skill they might
then go home and teach some adults . . .), and better skills at analyzing
and making arguments.
Another key skill that we hope to develop in our students is the abil-
ity to do research. LGBT history offers an excellent opportunity to do so.
One interesting project would be to have students conduct an “oral his-
tory” where students interview LGBT and non-LGBT elders in their com-
munity to understand how attitudes have shifted during the course of
their lives on these issues. Oral histories of LGBT elders could then be
combined with documentary research (local newspapers are a good
source, for example), and students might in fact be able to construct a
history of LGBT people and issues in their own community. This could
be done within the context for researching various communities found
in the local setting (those of people of color, various immigrant groups,
different religious faiths, and other relevant categories, depending on
the demographics of your region) with each group responsible for mak-
ing a presentation, fashioning a bulletin board, developing a Web site, or
sharing their learnings in some other way with their peers.
Finally, we can use more diverse materials to teach basic skills such
as reading and interpreting primary documents. At the school where I
taught, Concord Academy in Concord, Massachusetts, we traditionally
began our U.S. history curriculum with a unit entitled “Who Fired the
First Shot at Lexington Green?” where students would have to analyze
various eyewitness accounts of the famous Revolutionary War battle and
try to figure out who actually did fire the first shot. Being fairly confi-
dent that my students in Concord, Massachusetts, had probably heard of
the battles of Lexington and Concord, I persuaded my colleagues that
the same skills could be taught by using documents concerning events
with which students were unfamiliar. We developed a new lesson in
which students read accounts of the life of the Zuni We’wha, a “two-
spirit” (i.e., a person who lived and worked as the “opposite” gender
from his/her biological sex) Native American who was sent by her peo-
ple to represent them as an ambassador to the U.S. government in
Washington in the 1880s. In reading accounts of her life, students had
to try to understand this individual, who could be so respected by her
own people even though she played a social role that is and was looked
down upon by mainstream U.S. culture. To my colleagues’ surprise, this
lesson went over much better than “Who Fired the First Shot at Lexing-
ton Green?” Confronted with such an unknown and foreign subject, stu-
dents were fascinated and engaged in animated discussions about what
the documents they had read meant and how to interpret them. Years
later, I ran into one of these students, now in his late twenties, who re-
marked, “Man, I still remember how the first thing we read in U.S. his-
tory was about that Indian dude who dressed like a woman and was an
ambassador, and it blew my mind.” I cannot be sure, but I would bet
that he remembers few other individual lessons from his junior year U.S.
history class.
Conclusion: An Inclusive History Is a Better

Teaching Tool
In sum, the reasons to broaden our curriculum to include LGBT topics
are twofold. First, it is simply more honest and accurate to do so—when
we leave out this history, we teach our students an incomplete record of
our past. Second, new and innovative materials are more likely to engage
students and enable us to develop their skills. When something grabs
their attention, it is easier to teach them.
But in truth, there is a third important reason to include LGBT top-
ics in social studies, one that is more personal for me. In my final year of
teaching high school, two students persuaded the school to allow them
to do a semester-long independent study on LGBT history with me. I
264 Kevin Jennings
asked them to reflect on their learnings in a journal. In her final entry,

one of the students wrote:
The reason which prompted me to take this course is two-fold. First, I

am an eighteen-year-old lesbian. For those eighteen years. I have
learned close to nothing about gay and lesbian history. Once I came out
(at the age of sixteen) I searched for gay and lesbian books to help un-
derstand who I am and that I am not alone . . . But within the frame-
work of the high school curriculum, gay and lesbian history is either
ignored, or the teacher knows so little about it that they are unable to
teach it. I was tired of pursuing information (that would preferably have
been at my fingertips) outside the school curriculum . . . I left every sin-
gle class feeling determined and empowered. I had never felt that be-
fore about being a lesbian. Thank you, Kevin, for taking the time to
teach me, for allowing me to explore the topics that interested me, for
leaving me every Thursday feeling like I am worth something in spite
of and indeed because of my sexuality.
“I am worth something.” It is a fundamental lesson that every student de-

serves to learn about themselves and about their peers, in any good social
studies class. With a more inclusive curriculum, students are much more
likely to learn it.
References
Broussard, A. S., & Ritchie, D. A. (1999). American history: The early years to 1877.
New York: Glencoe.
Hirschfeld, S. (2003). Stonewall Jackson and the Stonewall Riots together. New York:
GLSEN. Retrieved February 23, 2005, from http://www.glsen.org/
cgi-bin/iowa/all/library/record/1773.html.
Kosciw, J. G., & Cullen, M. K. (2002). The 2001 National school climate survey: The
school-related experiences of our nation’s lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender youth.
New York: GLSEN.
Kosciw, J. G. (2004). The 2003 National school climate survey: The school-related expe-
riences of our nation’s lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender youth. New York:
GLSEN.
Miller, N. (1995). Out of the past: Gay and lesbian history from 1869 to the present. New
York: Vintage Books.
Widmeyer Communications. (2004). Gay slurs and teens, GLSEN Communications
Study: A summary of major findings. Unpublished report. New York: GLSEN.
CHAPTER 14
TEACHING SOCIAL STUDIES AS IF IT MATTERED
YOUNG CHILDREN AND MORAL DELIBERATION
Linda Farr Darling
The Delicate Thread of Sympathy

While I am writing this chapter, humanitarian aid is pouring into what
remains of coastal hamlets, towns, and tourist resorts devastated by the
2004 tsunami in the South Indian Ocean. The money, food, water, and
medicine, along with forensic and medical teams rushing to the disaster
sites from all over the globe represent the largest and most rapidly mo-
bilized relief effort ever seen. Compassion and care are coming from
everywhere, including the smallest countries, and the youngest donors,
remote Arctic villages, and tiny Buddhist monasteries. Nightly there are
news stories of heroism, sacrifice, and astounding generosity of spirit.
When asked by the press, people say they are doing whatever they can be-
cause they simply cannot do otherwise. The suffering is too profound,
and the need too great to ignore.
This is what obligation to the needs of strangers can feel like and
look like. It is a powerful and immediate response to another human
being in need, sympathy transformed to action. It is a matter of the heart
as much as the head, recognition that no matter our differences we are
somehow, if tenuously, connected to the lives of others with “the delicate
thread of sympathy that stitches humanity together” (Schur, 2004). The
suffering of people who are unknown to us has filled our imaginations.
Lost islands and villages whose names we could not have pronounced or
even found on a world map are now part of our collective consciousness.
Many of us are compelled to act on behalf of those people. The truth of
it is we have probably become more human because of them.
265
266 Linda Farr Darling
As a social studies teacher and researcher, I am deeply interested in

the idea of obligation to others. It is essentially a moral concept, one that
animates our relationships and actions within social units as close to us as
our families, and, as in the case of the tsunami, as faraway as strangers in
Sri Lanka. Its profound connection to the full range of our emotional lives,
including our passions, our sensitivities, and our sympathies is intriguing.
Like other moral concepts, obligation has been the subject of numerous
books such as Thomas Scanlon’s, What We Owe To Each Other, and Michael
Ignatieff’s, The Needs of Strangers. The roots of social obligation have been
examined by philosophers, psychologists, historians, and sociologists. I am
as fascinated as they have been by its scope, its limits, and perhaps more
than anything, its development. Where does a sense of obligation to others
come from? How does it grow in human beings? Can it be taught?
My hope, a hope that will be explored to some depth through this
chapter, is that a sense of obligation to others can be taught to children.
I will try to make the argument that like other moral sensibilities, a sense
of obligation is worth cultivating in schools. If we are serious about our
commitment to educate the whole child, we can’t ignore the moral side
of her education. Teaching about one’s obligation to others is a signifi-
cant part of that. If we want to develop citizens who will participate
thoughtfully in public as well as private spheres, we can’t dismiss the role
that a sense of obligation plays in both. I will also argue that cultivating a
sense of obligation to others is a natural and appropriate task for social
studies education. The fact that the sense of obligation to others is often
felt more than rationally considered or analyzed may make it difficult
stuff to address within a social studies curriculum. Nevertheless, it’s
important that we try.
The Heart of Social Studies

The social studies curriculum is built on a foundation of ethical commit-
ments and beliefs (Callan, 1997; Farr Darling, 2002b). They include com-
mitments to such political and social ideals as the preservation of
democratic forms of life, peaceful resolution of conflict, acceptance of
diversity, the promotion of social justice, and fulfillment of people’s
needs. The foundation also includes commitments to protecting free-
dom of speech, thought, religion, and assembly. Importantly, beliefs in
the dignity of human beings and the sanctity of life are also found here.
Understanding and appreciating our various obligations to others is an
important prerequisite for acting on any of these beliefs (McCarthy,
1992), and thus becomes an important goal for social studies instruction.
The ethical commitments at the heart of social studies precisely re-
flect the commitments that are at the heart of citizenship in a pluralistic
Teaching Social Studies as if It Mattered 267
democratic society. Responsible citizenship requires that these ideals be

affirmed, protected, and promoted. When these commitments are for-
gotten or violated, citizens are entitled, and in fact obligated to ask why
the commitments have been ignored, and to reassert their place and
their importance (Rawls, 1971). Ultimately, these ethical commitments
underlie our individual and collective visions for a more just, more com-
passionate, and more peaceful future. When we say the aim of social
studies is one of preparing students for citizenship, this is partly what we
mean. Because social studies aims to prepare students for citizenship in
society as it is, and also as it could be in the future, these foundational
commitments need to be identified, examined, and discussed through-
out the social studies curriculum. What does acceptance of diversity ac-
tually look like? Why should we preserve democratic forms of life? What’s
so important about freedom of assembly? What does social justice mean?
Why is equality central to human relations in a democracy? All of these
questions are fundamentally ethical, rooted in beliefs about what is pos-
sible and desirable for human beings who are trying to live together. Ac-
cording to many philosophers (Putnam, 1987; Walzer, 1989; Nagel,
1991) discovering how to live together is one of the most basic and most
essential moral tasks we engage in.
This means that teaching social studies is inevitably a moral enter-
prise. As Dewey (1916, p. 3) so emphatically put it, “all education which
develops power to share effectively in social life is moral.” Social studies
education can be viewed as a special kind of moral education built on a
foundation of ethical commitments that are required for a democratic,
pluralistic society and the members within it to flourish. The scope and
sequence of social studies curriculum brings these commitments to bear
on ever-widening circles of relationships, from the family and neighbor-
hood, to the nation, and finally to the world at large.
Students and teachers don’t always acknowledge this foundation of
commitments as the stuff of social studies. It is all too easy to consider in-
formation and subject matter content from numerous social sciences as
being primary. And even if they accept that a foundation of some sort ex-
ists under all this information, students and their teachers may not recog-
nize its inescapably ethical composition. But without the existence of this
foundation, what we think of as social studies knowledge, whether taken
from history, geography, sociology, or any other disciplines, would col-
lapse into a kind of curricular rubble. The underlying purpose for bring-
ing together these fields of knowledge into a school subject would be lost.
Without a foundation of ethical commitments, the goal of preparing stu-
dents for responsible, thoughtful citizenship would be an empty one.
Despite its strength, this foundation is not immutable or un-
changing. Each new generation of students has to refine and rework
the commitments at its core in order to interpret them in light of its

own experiences and aspirations. Students need to discover ways in
which the commitments might help them understand and even solve
problems that they and their communities face. In other words, they
have to make these commitments their own. This process of rediscov-
ery and re-articulation is always undertaken according to the demands
of particular times and places. In fact, part of the task of social studies
education is just that, helping students discover for themselves the
commitments on which the enterprise itself is built. Once they have
discovered what they are, students need to be provided with multiple
opportunities to deliberate about the value and meaning of these com-
mitments and to put them to work in their own lives.
Teaching Social Studies as if it Mattered

The task of helping students discover these ethical commitments and
their value is far from easy. Further, the relevance of these commitments
to responsible and thoughtful citizenship is not immediately apparent.
Students need to come to their own understandings and need the time
and resources to reason about what these commitments might mean for
their own pursuits and aspirations. They need to see how commitments
to social justice or democratic process can be put into practice. This takes
a special kind of engagement with social studies curriculum, one that de-
mands the ability and inclination to reason about causes and conse-
quences, explore the roots of conflicts and controversies, and examine
multiple perspectives on problems. It requires the ability and inclination
to imagine the experience of another. It also demands the disposition to
offer and to ask for reasons when presenting or listening to a perspective
or argument. Above all, it calls for willingness to see things from a moral
point of view, to recognize that both social studies and democratic citi-
zenship are built on common ethical ground.
Social studies teachers, especially teachers of young children, may
find this task problematic because they believe children are not develop-
mentally ready to engage in deliberation of this kind. Elementary class-
room teachers sometimes conclude that their students are too young to
engage in what amounts to moral reasoning, that young children lack
the tools for effective deliberation about ethical matters. Teachers may
also shy away from the task because they believe it necessarily involves in-
doctrination of beliefs. They are rightfully wary of coercing young stu-
dents into believing certain things and they don’t see a workable
alternative to inculcating values claims. Other doubts may echo public
concerns; teachers may worry that teaching children about ethical com-
mitments is a personal matter, best left to parents and family. Or they
may avoid such engagement because of concern that ethical under-

standings themselves are culturally bound and that respect for diverse
cultural beliefs necessitates classroom silence on these matters.
Through the example that follows, I present possibilities I believe ef-
fectively counter these cautions and concerns within justifiable and work-
able pedagogy. The example is intended to show a way of reasoning
about moral concepts, issues, and problems that are already essential
parts of the social studies curriculum. My context is the elementary class-
room and in particular the primary classroom (K–3) for two reasons. The
first reason is that deliberation about moral matters should be intro-
duced early in school as a natural and spontaneous form of engagement
with questions about relationships and behavior, as well as about con-
cepts such as fairness, goodness, and trust (Noddings, 1994). Discussion
about these things helps to lay the groundwork for participation in pub-
lic dialogue and debate. The second reason is this: if it’s cognitively pos-
sible for six-year-olds to engage with moral matters in this way, then it’s
surely possible for sixteen-year-olds.
Young students already can and, in fact, do take part in discussions
about moral matters foundational to effective participation in the public
sphere (Kagan & Lamb, 1987). In my example, the teacher’s role is to
build on a natural disposition to engage with others about moral prob-
lems and one’s beliefs about being good and doing the right thing
(Kagan, 1998). It is the teacher who introduces young students to the
practice of offering and asking for reasons for their opinions, and to
model the habits of mind that are necessary for thoughtful, respectful,
and responsible engagement with others. Instead of indoctrinating moral
content, the teacher models effective social deliberation. She poses ques-
tions about their present understandings and asks for clarification of
terms. She gives students convincing reasons to carry on dialogue and
make sustained efforts to understand other points of view. She also pro-
vides a compelling rationale for appreciating the interests and concerns
of others. Taking the view that the mainly egocentric perspective of the
young child is a given, the teacher shows how this perspective might be
broadened and deepened to take into account other people’s positions
and concerns. It is hoped that through guided encounters with others
children can begin to see beyond their own stance and viewpoint. It is fur-
ther hoped that they will recognize that since our own interests matter to
each of us, it must be the case that other people have interests that matter
just as much to them (Nagel, 1991). This deceptively simple truth is a pre-
requisite for responsible and compassionate interactions with others.
Most children are naturally drawn to stories (Coles, 1988; Kohl,
1995) so the example I have chosen can be read aloud to young stu-
dents: a contemporary version of an Aesop’s fable in which animals are
central characters. Children respond enthusiastically to stories that fea-

ture talking animals, and usually have no problem relating to them with
sympathy and imagination. The fable’s connections to social studies
come by way of its origin, subject matter, and message. Fables, along
with other types of stories play many roles in the education of children,
everywhere in the world. Certain stories become important vehicles for
transmitting to the next generation the virtues, values, and worldviews
of a culture or community. They introduce notions of sympathy, perse-
verance, courage, or responsibility. They can alert children to the dan-
gers of disobedience or let them see the rewards of kindness. Some
stories help children with the imaginative task of seeing life through the
eyes of another and through vicarious experience developing empathy
with others. Still other stories raise hard questions about how to live with
others, and how to treat people and other sentient beings in ways that
are compassionate, just, and sincere.
In this example, exploring the idea of obligations to others becomes
the main educational task. This is because learning about our obligations
to the rights, freedoms, and needs of other people is basic to our flour-
ishing, both individually and collectively. This is so whether we are speak-
ing of a community, a democratic, pluralistic society, or I would argue,
the world. Ethically speaking, if we presume all human beings have equal
moral worth, there can be no predetermined or preexisting limits on the
geographical scope of our obligations to other human beings. Whether
they are within our own community or across an ocean, given certain
conditions, we may be obliged to help a stranger. There are clearly prac-
tical limits and other sorts of constraints on what we are able to do in any
particular circumstance. Although most of us naturally and justifiably
feel a sense of obligation most strongly to those closest to us (Noddings,
1984), at certain times we are pulled by sympathy toward the plight or
distress of strangers. And at times we feel moved to act on their behalf.
Helping young children examine the concept of obligation and what it
may entail in particular cases is one important way social studies can pre-
pare young students to participate in the world as thoughtful and caring
human beings. It is the reason the chapter is titled, Teaching social studies
as if it mattered. I believe it does.
The Porcupine and the Moles: What We Owe to Others

Living harmoniously in a pluralistic society requires the ability and incli-
nation to imagine the perspectives and interests of others, or at least grant
that those perspectives and interests are morally significant (Nagel, 1991).
In order to distribute goods fairly and adjudicate rights claims, we need to
learn how to take other people’s viewpoints on events and problems. In
my example, primary-age students are asked to listen to a short fable
about a porcupine that is looking for a home for the winter and finds tem-
porary refuge with a welcoming family of moles. The dilemma in the fable
arises when the moles find that their guest has taken over their quarters
and refuses to leave when asked. Most students find it easy to imagina-
tively put themselves into the story, especially as children are acutely
aware of the difficulties of learning to share possessions and space.
The Porcupine and the Moles

It was growing cold and the porcupine was looking for a home for
the winter. He found a wonderful looking tunnel as he was walking
along. When he crawled down, he saw that a family of moles had dug a
very cozy underground house.
“Would you mind if I shared your house with you for the winter?”
the porcupine asked the moles.
The moles were kind and said it would be all right, so the porcupine
moved in. But the underground home was small and every time the moles
moved, they were scratched by the porcupine’s sharp quills. The moles put
up with this for as long as they could. Then they gathered up their
courage and confronted the porcupine.
“Please go away,” they said to their guest, “so we can have our house
to ourselves again.”
“Oh no,” said the porcupine, “I like this house. It suits me just fine!”
(Fable adapted from Aesop’s Fables retold by A. McGovern and pub-
lished by Scholastic Book Company in 1963.)
After listening to the fable, students are asked to answer two questions:
(1) What is the problem in the story, and (2) how would you solve it? In
order to begin constructing solutions to the problem they identify, stu-
dents are asked to individually draw a picture that shows the best ending
for the story. Most students readily understand the problem facing the
moles as well as the plight that landed the porcupine in their midst
(Smetana, Killen, & Turiel, 1991). In my own work with young children,
there has been a wide variety of initial responses (Farr Darling, 2002a).
Some children offer a simple retelling of the story and occasionally name
the characters after friends. Some children draw the “underground home”
to look like their bedrooms, and others give family names to the moles and
porcupine. A few students want to know the “real” ending of the story, and
are unwilling to respond until they are told the assignment does not call
for one right answer. When told there may be many good endings, most
children are reassured and eager to participate. If they are able, students
are also asked to write a brief line or two to accompany their pictures.
Their teacher can add captions to their illustrations or record these initial
responses on a board or chart paper. Later, these responses will make a
springboard for discussions about what makes a good solution to the

problem the students have identified and described.
It is quite common for both young boys and girls to initially frame the
story in terms of rights (Garrod & Beal, 1993). This is referred to as a justice
framework for decision making (Gilligan, Taylor, & Ward, 1988) and is ex-
pressed in a number of ways. The moles have the “right” to keep their
house to themselves, either because they own it, or because they built it or
because, “they were there first.” The rights perspective can result in some
rather harsh treatment for the porcupine. One child I worked with drew a
picture with a “Keep Out” sign placed at the tunnel’s entrance and sug-
gested to me that the porcupine be sent on an errand and not allowed
reentry. Other children immediately extend their sympathies (and demon-
strate empathetic identification) to the small and kind-hearted moles who
initially shared their shelter with the large, prickly porcupine. Still others
identify with the stray porcupine by imagining the cold lonely world outside
the moles’ warm home. When asked what the moles ought to do, that is,
what their obligations are to the porcupine, children express a range of
views, everything from, “tell him to leave; it’s their house,” to, “just give him
the house and make another one next door.” When I asked for a reason for
the latter response, the student answered, “Because the moles already know
how to build one so they can do it over.” Some offer compromises, such as
this response from a six-year-old boy, “He can stay while it’s winter, then go
back where he came from when it’s spring.”
Children working on the problem of the mole and porcupine have
also made suggestions from a caring perspective (Noddings, 1984) such as
wrapping the porcupine in a blanket, or towel, or helping him find a new
home. Others have suggested shaving his quills, inserting room dividers, or
working together to construct a home they can share (Johnston, 1988).
One child wrote on her picture, “Tell my Daddy. He builds houses.” An-
other suggested that while the moles were up, “eating and stuff,” the por-
cupine would sleep. “They could take turns.” The range and creativity of
their proposed solutions might at first seem surprising. But many re-
searchers (Nucci & Turiel, 1978; Cassidy, Chu, & Dahlsgaard, 1997;
Berkowitz & Grych, 2000) have found that children readily employ a moral
vocabulary that communicates compassion and empathy as well as knowl-
edge of rights. Children are often inclined to see situations from a moral
point of view, though they may not be able to describe it as such. In the fol-
lowing dialogue, an eight-year-old girl expresses her views about whether
the porcupine should be able stay and under what conditions:
So, they ask him to get out and then they say, “Why don’t you . . .
why won’t you go away? You are hurting us,” and if he says, “But I don’t
have anywhere to go to” then they should be nice . . . you know? Then
they say well maybe.
Teacher: What if the porcupine gives another reason?

Student: “Well, but . . . if he just says I don’t want to . . . I like it here . . .
then he’s just being lazy.”
Teacher: “What should they do if he’s just being lazy?
Student: “Kick him out.”
Here the student has addressed a number of moral concepts that

could be the basis for further discussion about obligations to others. As
she sees it, to be fair to the porcupine, the moles should inquire about
the porcupine’s reasons for wanting to move in. A compelling reason
should motivate the moles to do what they can to accommodate their
guest and solve the space problem. What would count as a compelling
reason? If, as she suggests, he has looked in vain for somewhere else to
go, the moles might be persuaded to share their home and even increase
its size. In this way, the moles will have acted out of kindness and com-
passion. A less persuasive answer from the porcupine, such as, “I don’t
feel like it” does not inspire sympathy for his situation or a sense that the
porcupine deserves a helping hand. There is no felt obligation on the
part of the moles. This latter answer might justifiably result in eviction.
In the former case, in which the porcupine’s answer is judged com-
pelling, the student may be suggesting that the moles have an obligation
to help someone in distress. Or she might see the act of enlarging their
home as not one of basic obligation but an action that goes beyond what
is ordinarily morally required. Asking her to explain her position and her
reasons would be the next step. A teacher could ask any of the following
questions in order to elicit the student’s justifications for her views: Do
the moles have an obligation to help the porcupine? Would the moles be
acting wrongly or selfishly if they kicked the porcupine out? What’s the
right thing for them to do? If they are uncomfortable, even in pain be-
cause of his quills, should they put up with the situation? What would be
fair to them? What about the porcupine’s role? What are his obligations
to his host? Is the porcupine wrong to be so stubborn? Is he being re-
spectful of his hosts? What would be the right thing for him to do? Is
there a solution to the problem that could satisfy everyone? What would
you do if you were a mole and it was your house? What would you do if
you were the porcupine and needed a place to live?
Once students have individually illustrated and/or written a solution
to the problem that they think is workable, they can share their thinking
with others. Their teacher can frame a discussion in which deliberations
move from the individuals to the group. The story can generate a host of
ethical principles to consider, or serve as a catalyst for discussion about
analogous situations relating to property rights, the needs of strangers,
or sharing one’s possessions.
Ties to social studies curriculum are numerous: family roles and

responsibilities, conduct in classroom and school (e.g., bullying), commu-
nity responsibilities, human rights, and social issues such as homelessness.
Further questions from Grade 2 students illustrate additional starting
points for discussion that have come from students themselves (Case &
Farr Darling, 2001): Where is the porcupine’s real home? Why doesn’t he
go back? What if he froze to death? Would it be their fault? Why does the
porcupine want to stay even though they don’t want him? Shouldn’t he
be nicer to the moles because they let him stay in the first place? Could
they get any other animals to help decide what to do?
Group deliberation provides the opportunity for students to com-
pare solutions, weigh the relative merits of each, and even generate cri-
teria to use in order to evaluate solutions. Students can look for the
fairest solutions, the most generous, or the most workable. Perhaps a
consensus can be reached about the best solution, or it may be enough
for the teacher to acknowledge that some of the divergent views ex-
pressed could be acceptable to everyone. Reasoning about moral mat-
ters may not always (or even often) yield a single “best” solution. As
Putnam (1987) points out, there may not be one ideal answer to every
problem we face in trying to live together. The analogy he turns to is
that of choosing a knife. Just because we have no Platonic ideal of knife,
he tells us, does not mean we cannot distinguish between better and
worse knives and fairly evaluate each in light of our purposes. Just be-
cause we may not be able to arrive at the one ideal solution for the
moles and the porcupine, doesn’t mean we can’t judge some solutions
as better ones than others.
Extending the Conversation

Most children in primary grades already recognize instances of compas-
sion and sympathy and may recognize these as desirable even if they do
not refer to them as virtues (Kagan, 1998). Children can take another
step with help. In learning the vocabulary we employ to talk about moral
matters, children can situate their deliberations about how to treat peo-
ple within a larger conversation about obligations, one involving both
the language of rights and the language of caring (Cassidy, Chu, &
Dahlsgarrd, 1997). A broader conversation about the obligations human
beings have to each other’s welfare could be based on student’s views
about the moles and the porcupine, and importantly, the reasons they
cite for holding those views. Many children are quick to attend to the
moral features of a story if given lively and interesting problems to con-
sider. Introducing a special vocabulary for talking about moral issues is
the second step and should be accompanied by multiple opportunities
for open-ended discussions. It is possible to do even more for students’

thinking. If scenarios such as the story of the moles and the porcupine
are presented as moral matters in which a certain sort of reasoning is
called for, students can learn to discuss alternative responses and solu-
tions at a deeper, more reflective and reflexive level. They can decide
which actions in other stories are morally justifiable based on principles
of respect, fairness, and so on. Concepts like justice, trust, and obligation
can help to clarify thinking about the right thing to do. Importantly,
these concepts make it easier to communicate reasons, feelings, and in-
tentions to those we may want to persuade to a particular point of view.
There are other simple ways to introduce this vocabulary in the so-
cial studies classroom. Children who know what it is to “play fair” can be
presented with opportunities to see and discuss the way justice is demon-
strated in different contexts. Children who have been taught to “wait
your turn,” “think about how you would feel,” and “don’t pick on peo-
ple” can be explicitly taught that these relate to treating other people
with respect. Additionally, normative language relates to the work that
children do and the attitudes they hold toward their learning. Children
who have been reminded to “do your best,” “think for yourself,” and
“keep trying” are initiated into a world where perseverance and integrity
are intellectual virtues worth pursuing. And children who know they
should always “tell the truth” are hopefully internalizing the virtue of
honesty. Children can be shown that their emotional reactions to social
interactions (such as those depicted in the fable) and the questions they
ask of themselves and others, are the result of thinking from a moral
point of view, even before they have formulated what that moral point of
view might be. In every new conflict presented in the social studies class-
room, directing attention to a new moral landscape with new features is
an important first step.
There are a great number of approaches for pointing out moral ele-
ments in children’s everyday interactions and using these to help children
cultivate moral sensitivities (Berkowitz & Grych, 2000). Role-plays based on
playground, cafeteria, or classroom events can be rich sources for illustrat-
ing moral points of view, including instances of obligations to others. Class
projects that help children develop a social conscience are another way to
be initiated into a world where moral sensitivities and actions matter. For
me, the route has most often been literature, stories that deal with keeping
promises, demonstrating courage, expressing compassion, and telling the
truth. These provide wonderful possibilities for moral engagement. Exam-
ining these possibilities is part and parcel of a social studies curriculum
that aims to prepare caring, thoughtful citizens (Blum, 1999). In Robert
Coles’ (1989) words, these stories awaken moral imaginations. They also
introduce children to moral vocabularies and traditions in which they can
actively participate, both individually and collectively. The example shared

here shows some of what is pedagogically possible for teachers working
with children in the primary years.
Concerns About Moral Education in Classrooms

Respectful deliberation takes practice and guidance (Vokey, 1999). Mak-
ing competent decisions that will further the good of others as well as
one’s own requires understanding, patience, and openness to a range of
views. These virtues develop over time with instructional support and
structured experiences. The process begins with what Callan (1997)
calls, “a commitment to moral reciprocity” (p. 26). One must be able and
inclined to enter into the moral perspective another occupies in order to
fairly assess any claims being made. Genuine communication between
people requires a commitment to try to understand each other. This in
itself is a character trait worth cultivating through education, for the sake
of, “the vitality of the political order” (Callan, p. 3).
If we accept Callan’s claim, then it is easy to see the ways in which
moral conversations in social studies are really dialogues about the ques-
tion, “How shall we live together?” Part of learning to become a member
of any community or a society (even a global one) means knowing how
to deliberate about the matters that enrich or impoverish our humanity,
our dignity, and our capacity to live with each other. To me, this is the
most important task for social studies when conceptualized, as I believe it
should be, as moral education. However, there are at least three objec-
tions to this position, which I feel bound to consider. The concerns de-
serve serious and thoughtful answers. In the space of one chapter, I can
only summarize what has been argued for by philosophers such as Rawls
(1971), psychologists such as Kohlberg (1981, 1984) and social studies
educators such as Callan (1997). Their common ground in this matter
has been their commitment to the education of the whole child, includ-
ing her moral and social development along with her intellectual growth.
Private and Public Morality

The idea of schools sharing in the task of teaching children to be moral
does raise certain objections. At least three are concerns that teachers
have expressed about their roles in the classroom. The first is based on
the view that moral education should take place in the home and not the
school; in other words, that moral education is essentially a private mat-
ter and not a public one. My answer is that moral education is an in-
escapable part of people learning to come together for the purpose of
living peaceably and productively in communities and societies. Moral
education takes place implicitly or explicitly in every classroom, every

time a teacher makes a judgment about a child’s conduct, every time a
fight is stopped on the playground, and every time a curricular choice is
made. So we may as well own up to its inevitability and do our best to
make it responsible and responsive moral education. Certainly there are
matters for private instruction, religious practices being one of them,
and schools should not and need not tread on those. This can be difficult
terrain to travel in a religiously diverse classroom, but it is important to
emphasize the kinds of moral deliberations that are consistent with what
is needed for sustaining (and improving) a democratic, pluralistic society
and advancing the well-being of its citizens.
All of us have an interest in seeing that schools promote public virtues
or what are sometimes called civic or social virtues (MacIntyre, 1985).
These include respect for others’ rights and property, a sense of justice,
concern for others’ welfare, and appreciation of democratic ideals. Sehr
(1997) writes that we need publicly oriented citizens who will “organize to
take control of the powerful institutions of society, or create new social in-
stitutions through which to build social justice, fairness, equality, economic
opportunity, in short, the conditions necessary for the self-development of
all members of society” (p. 55). Classrooms can be viewed, as Dewey did, as
communities in microcosm, and therefore appropriate places to foster dis-
positions that will lead to the public-minded citizens that Sehr believes we
need. Many of these dispositions are moral ones. The story of the mole
and porcupine allowed students to explore, on their own terms, the sorts
of dispositions that are essential to constructing positive relationships with
others in private as well as public spheres.
We are also justified in thinking that schools should promote certain
intellectual virtues along with civic ones, and these intellectual virtues or
habits of mind often have a moral dimension. These virtues include cu-
riosity, respect for knowledge, intellectual humility, and self-discipline.
All of these seem appropriate, even essential to becoming educated, and
most of us have little difficulty in seeing these addressed in schools. In
fact, most of our conceptions of an educated person would look incom-
plete without reference to these dispositions, characteristics, and habits
of mind. Teachers, even teachers of very young children, view these as
foundational to positive social and emotional development as well as in-
tellectual growth (Nunner-Winkler & Sodian, 1988).
The Risk of Indoctrination

The second concern is that moral education of any kind imposes values on
children and is by its very nature manipulative. My answer is that if we be-
lieve in the moral values we profess to, coercing children into beliefs of
any kind is never a viable option. It is not ethically justified. Indoctrina-

tion is a violation of autonomy, even developing autonomy. Even where
there is “justified paternalism” we rightly demand appropriate justifica-
tion for deciding things for other people, including children. In the pub-
lic sphere we are committed to asking people to support their views with
reasons and evidence. We ask for explanations and we make explicit
spaces for deliberation. There is general agreement in a liberal demo-
cratic society that holding to beliefs based on prejudice and custom is
dangerous and potentially destructive to a society as well as the individu-
als within it (Mill, 1975). Therefore, as teachers, we are obligated to show
children our best reasons for believing what we tell them. We are also ob-
ligated to help them arrive at their own beliefs with adequate warrant
and justification. Even before children can understand the full weight of
such justification, they will know we value reasons and deliberation. As
they develop their own autonomy and sense of social responsibility, they
can be expected to extend the same measure of consideration to others
as adults are morally obliged to extend to them.
For instance, in my example, children are asked to participate in a
dialogue in which no predetermined answer to the story is presented to
them. They have the opportunity and the support to engage in honest
deliberation without coercion or manipulation. The story itself presents
a host of possibilities for constructing adequate and defensible solutions,
and the students are asked to provide the reasons (justifications) for
their responses. Their justifications are then examined and weighed ac-
cording to simple criteria they establish themselves: the fairest solution,
the kindest solution, and the most peaceable solution. The various an-
swers are compared, contrasted and evaluated through the course of the
dialogue. The teachers’ rules are only that everyone has a chance to be
heard and that everyone’s idea counts.
Conflicting Moral Traditions

The third concern I have heard from teachers is that since moral educa-
tion is culturally bound, then what is acceptable in one culture could be
construed as cultural imposition if transferred to another. In a class-
room, we will always have students of different faiths, cultures, and back-
grounds. The claim is that the diversity of moral traditions that are
present in schools means we are not entitled to privilege one tradition
over any other. By introducing moral matters at all, the argument goes,
we risk raising irreconcilable conflicts between moral traditions and be-
liefs. On this view, teaching about moral virtues will inevitably come
down to choosing which virtues are most important for an individual to
possess, and this in itself could be deeply problematic teaching within a
pluralistic society. If all people have equal moral worth, it is asked, then
how can we be justified in promoting a particular view on what’s morally
right or good or true?
This is a difficult objection to address in a brief space, but I would
like to offer the beginning of a counter-argument. I think the notion of
inescapable conflict between moral traditions may well underestimate
the amount of actual commonality between human beings. Our dis-
agreement may not go all the way down, and even if it does, we can’t
know that before we try to engage others in dialogue. It has been argued
(Taylor, 1989) that we would not even recognize moral disagreement ex-
cept against a background of shared understandings and the roots of a
common moral language. In other words, we may have more in common
than we think. Martha Nussbaum (1997) claims that all human beings
share certain spheres of experience that bind us in ways we might not
recognize at first: we all try to make sense of experience, we all want love
and acceptance, we all want a measure of security and safety, and we all
have to deal with mortality.
If this is true, then perhaps different moral traditions can strengthen
each other. Multiple perspectives on problems common to all may pro-
vide answers never imagined by some. Opening up the dialogue to di-
verse voices could, in fact, broaden our moral horizons (Burbules & Rice,
1991). Moral conversations based on mutual respect and presumption of
trust might well enrich our understandings of each other. We won’t
know unless we begin them. Elementary social studies classrooms may
well be the most appropriate places for learning how to openly and sin-
cerely listen to one another across multiple differences. Elementary so-
cial studies curriculum, especially when it includes fables and folktales
about moral dilemmas and the expression of various virtues, becomes a
rich repository of human experience that can be shared with young stu-
dents. It can show them ways to imaginatively step into someone else’s
shoes. One rationale for making this the foremost task for elementary so-
cial studies is that education that promotes moral reciprocity preserves
the vitality of the public order (Callan, 1997) and the viability of a liberal
society (Galston, 1998); another is that it will help make possible the
flourishing of individuals within that public (Blum, 1999). Both are com-
pelling reasons for teachers of young children to take up moral educa-
tion of this kind.
Conclusion
A sense of obligation, like many social virtues, is nested within particular
moral traditions, and yet seems to cross the boundaries between them to
become something more universally expressed. A young friend once
asked me where “virtues come from.” I don’t know the answer to her
question except to say virtues are part of who we are as human beings. It
is likely they have always been cornerstones of human relationships and
human communities. Talking about virtues is part of social and linguistic
practices everywhere, in ancient worlds and modern ones. We see virtues
carved on Chinese stones and Islamic tablets, and woven into Greek
myths and Norse fairy tales, Australian Dream time stories, and Indone-
sian puppet plays. They are fundamental to legal systems and founda-
tional to religious doctrines. Do they arise from a human need for
others, a desire to become part of a community? Or do they come out of
a spiritual desire to reflect godlike qualities or please one’s God? It is
hard to do more than speculate. Translated over time and place we do
recognize the expression of certain virtues across cultures and genera-
tions, even when they may take priority in one culture or epoch and be
in the shadows in another. Sympathy and compassion seem almost uni-
versally present. Perhaps sympathy, borne out of a sense of “connection
to others,” as Blum suggests, is the very first virtue (Kagan & Lamb,
1987). At a very early age, people recognize in themselves and others,
vulnerability to suffering. The recognition of shared vulnerability may
lead to empathy with others and perhaps expressions of sympathy or
compassion (Kagan, 1998).
A few years ago a Spanish network ran a commercial that I only saw
once. A toddler (seen from the back and wearing diapers) sits in front of
a television watching a newsreel of refugees fleeing a devastated land-
scape. Among the refugees is a young woman with a baby in her arms.
The baby is crying uncontrollably. The toddler who is watching reaches
up and places her own soother on the screen. That gesture may repre-
sent an early sign of human connection. It may show us the same spark of
compassion that was ignited by images of ruined lives in the South In-
dian Ocean, sympathy that became the felt obligation to relieve suffer-
ing. If it does show this, it may well mark the beginning of a child’s moral
education. I would like to think so.
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CHAPTER 15
DECOLONIZING THE MIND FOR
WORLD-CENTERED GLOBAL EDUCATION
Merry M. Merryfield and Binaya Subedi
In the United States the social studies curriculum has long been the cen-
terpiece of schools’ efforts to enculturate new generations and immi-
grants into what it means to be “American.” Addressing such goals as
preparing young people for civic competence, the social studies curricu-
lum has been designed to teach history, economics, government, and
other disciplines through the perspectives of mainstream—white middle
class—academic knowledge and cultural norms (e.g., Banks, 1995; Ross,
2000; also see chapter 3 in this volume, by Kevin D. Vinson, and chapter
7, by Jack Nelson & Valerie Ooka Pang, for discussions of how social stud-
ies curriculum privileges particular perspectives). Not until the civil
rights movement of the 1960s did the social studies curriculum begin to
include content (knowledge, experiences, points of view, etc.) of African-
Americans, Asian Americans, Latinos, Native Americans, new immi-
grants, or other groups on the margins of economic and political power
in the U.S. Slowly Americans of color are broadening the center of the
social studies curriculum as it becomes more inclusive of their knowl-
edge, experiences, ideas, values, and historical understandings. How-
ever, in the new millennium, even a multicultural American-centric
curriculum will be inadequate.
For no matter whether Americans choose to ignore or reject the re-
alities of globalization, they will increasingly be affected by the world’s
human diversity, the acceleration of inequities from economic, ecologi-
cal, and technological dependence, and the repercussions of global im-
perialism, human conflict, poverty, and injustice. If we are to educate
young Americans for effective citizenship in today’s global age, the social
283
284 Merry M. Merryfield and Binaya Subedi
studies curriculum must go beyond European or American constructions

of knowledge and also teach the experiences, knowledge, and perspec-
tives of diverse peoples in Africa, Asia, Latin America, and the Middle
East. A world-centered global education removes the nationalistic filters
that only allow students to see events, ideas, and issues through the lens
of their country’s national interests and government policy. It also chal-
lenges colonialist assumptions of superiority and manifest destiny (Alger
& Harf, 1986; Anderson, 1979; Becker, 1979; Darling, 1994; Lamy, 1987;
Martin & Schumann, 1996; Said, 1993; San Juan, 1998).
A global perspective develops from the integration of (1) knowledge
of the interconnectedness of the world and the complexity of its peoples,
(2) lived experiences with people different from oneself, and (3) per-
ceptual skills in perspective consciousness, open-mindedness, and resis-
tance to chauvinism and stereotyping. Within the knowledge dimension,
students examine conflicting constructions of historical understandings
and alternative explanations of the inequities and interdependence of
the world’s economic, political, environmental, and technological sys-
tems, and they research local/global connections and different explana-
tions and solutions for local/global issues affecting their community and
the planet (Alger & Harf, 1986; Anderson, 1979; Coombs, 1989; Kniep,
1986a, 1986b; Pike & Selby, 1988; Werner, 1990; Wilson, 1997). In the ex-
periential dimension, students work cooperatively with people from dif-
ferent cultures, experience minority status and power (learning in
situations where one is in a linguistic or racial minority, for example)
and reflect over time on the implications of these experiences (Cushner,
McClelland, & Safford, 1992; Finney & Orr, 1995; Flournoy, 1994;
Gochenour, 1993: Johnson & Johnson, 1992; Merryfield, 1997; Wilson,
1982, 1983, 1993a). Through the integration of global knowledge and
cross-cultural experiences, students develop perceptual skills in empathy,
open-mindedness, and perspective consciousness, including the ability to
explain an event or issue from multiple perspectives (Case, 1993; Dar-
ling, 1995; Hanvey, 1982; Pike & Selby, 1995; Wilson, 1993a, 1993b).
They learn skills to identify and challenge unstated assumptions, chau-
vinism, stereotyping and the simplification of complexity (Case, 1993;
Wilson, 1993b). The integration of these three dimensions characterizes
the practice of exemplary global educators who teach world-centered so-
cial studies (Dove, Norris, & Shinew, 1997; Merryfield, 1993, 1994, 1997,
1998; Shapiro & Merryfield, 1995; Wilson, 1983, 1993b).
In this chapter we focus on three strategies that exemplary global ed-
ucators use to decolonize students’ understanding of their world so that
they are able to look beyond the blinders of American-centrism, set aside
the baggage of colonialist assumptions, and see the world and its peoples
through global perspectives. By opening their students’ minds to the
Decolonizing the Mind for World-Centered Global Education 285
interaction of power, culture, and knowledge construction, these teach-

ers build a conceptual and perceptual foundation for students to study
U.S. and world cultures, histories, political systems, economic depen-
dence and interdependence, and local/global issues from different
standpoints over time.
In over a decade of classroom research and school/university col-
laboration with K–12 global educators, we have found some intriguing
commonalties between teachers’ thinking about their pedagogy in global
education and the conceptual work of scholars who have struggled to un-
derstand the effects of prejudice and combat its inequities and injustice.
As part of our discussion of the three strategies, we bring in the ideas of
W. E. B. DuBois, Edward Said, and Ngugi wa Thiong’o whom we believe
offer critical insights into why and how decolonizing student thinking
and knowledge is central to the development of global perspectives.
Double Consciousness and Perspective Consciousness

In his seminal work, An Attainable Global Perspective, Robert Hanvey
(1982) described the skills of perspective consciousness:
The recognition or awareness on the part of the individual that he or she

has a view of he world that is not universally shared, that this view of the
world has been and continues to be shaped by influences that often es-
cape conscious detection, and that others have views of the world that
are profoundly different from one’s own. (Hanvey, 1982, p. 162)
Reflection upon one’s own perspectives, the deep layers of values,

norms, and experiences that are accumulated through family and soci-
etal enculturation, is probably the most significant first step towards de-
veloping a global perspective. However, Hanvey’s conceptualization of
perspective consciousness does not address the relationship between the
development of perspective consciousness and the power one holds ei-
ther locally or globally. And, as many global educators have discovered,
the development of perspective consciousness differs considerably de-
pending upon the degree to which students perceive that people like
themselves are on the margins or in the center of their society.
At the turn of the twentieth century, the great scholar and activist
W. E. B. DuBois (1989) wrote of double consciousness as a coping
response to racism.
It is a peculiar sensation, this double-consciousness, this sense of always

looking at one’s self through the eyes of others, of measuring one’s soul by
the tape of a world that looks on in amused contempt and pity. One ever
feels his twoness—an American, a negro: two souls, two thoughts, two
unreconciled strivings; two warring ideals in one dark body, whose dogged
strength alone keeps it from being torn asunder. (DuBois, 1989, p. 3)
Since color was used to separate people in DuBois’ America, he saw black
children grow up conscious not only of their own culture learned from
family and community, but also the white culture that designated them
an inferior race, a problem to be solved. White people, because of their
race-based dominant position, did not develop double consciousness. In
the United States and other countries, the duality of perspectives based
on power and discrimination that DuBois called double consciousness
has also been used to explain the complexity of identity when race, class,
gender, and other differences have been used to separate, marginalize,
or oppress people (Gilroy, 1993; Narayan, 1988). In writing about the ef-
fects of the ultimate oppression, genocide in Hitler’s Germany, Anna
Newman (1998) describes how her father’s “double visions, a double
knowing of sorts that infiltrates every corner of his life” paralleled his
view before Auschwitz and his experiences afterward (p. 430). Other
terms are similar in their identification of the multiple perspectives that
people develop to deal with prejudice and oppression.
The qualitative differences are profound between a double con-
sciousness that develops as a survival skill because one is marginalized or
abused within one’s own society, and a perspective consciousness that de-
velops to understand the “other” as an academic exercise in cross-cultural
awareness. Global educators have seen the need to understand the per-
sonal contexts in which students position themselves to view their world
(Merryfield, 1998). When students have developed a dual consciousness
because of growing up African-American or Latino in a racist community,
they enter a social studies classroom with many experiences and insights
that will inform their understanding of global systems because they al-
ready have a tacit understanding of how people in power use their culture
to justify inequity and injustice. However, the more students are privi-
leged by their race, class, gender, sexual orientation, language, or other
characteristics (an upper-class, straight, white able-bodied male being the
most privileged), the more they will need help in developing perspective
consciousness since such privilege protects them from situations in which
they would be forced to examine events and issues through the viewpoints
of people different from themselves (see also Sleeter, 1993, 1995).
Contrapuntal Knowledge, Voices, and Experiences

Much of the historical scholarship in the western world is structured as
“European diffusionism,” an approach that emphasizes the importance of
European civilizations over other world civilizations and places European

history at the center of world history (Blaut, 1993). Until recently, the so-
cial studies curriculum only included events and places in Africa, Asia, the
Americas, and the Middle East when Europeans or white Americans were
there as though the billions of people in these huge regions had nothing
in their histories or cultures worth teaching about except as a backdrop
for white-people’s trade, exploration, war, or benevolence. When unchal-
lenged, such European-centered history may lead to what some have
called a colonized mind. The Kenyan playwright and scholar Ngugi wa
Thiongo struggled with colonial oppression as he grew up under British
rule, experienced the Gikuyu revolt and then faced jail and exile when his
plays and books were perceived as subversive by Kenya’s post-indepen-
dence government. Like DuBois, he writes about the effects of oppression
on identity. In Decolonising the Mind, Ngugi (1986) explores how imperial-
ism and colonization live on in peoples’ minds long after the colonial pe-
riod. A colonial mentality deeply permeates many Kenyans’ thinking
today because it is not only embedded but unexamined.
Decolonizing the mind, as in transformative multicultural educa-
tion (Banks, 1995), takes place when people become conscious of how
oppressors force their worldviews into oppressed people’s lives in such
ways that even in later generations people may never realize that their
ideas and choices are affected by colonialist or neo-colonist perspec-
tives. It is not only the people who are oppressed who develop a colo-
nized mind. In the past many American schools enculturated young
people into a worldview that rests upon colonial assumptions of Euro-
pean and American manifest destiny and white racial superiority. Unless
these colonialist assumptions were challenged by other teaching or lived
experience, these students grew up seeing the world through a binary
perspective that divided their world into people like themselves, who are
superior by virtue of their race/culture or economic/military strengths,
and all the other people who are somehow worth less. Given primacy of
colonialist assumptions within the American heritage, it is not surprising
that social studies texts frequently use terms, such as “Third World,” that
teach students to reduce 85% of people on the planet to a single cate-
gory whose only shared characteristic is that they are not of European
heritage. Or that students who are taught colonialist assumptions in
K–12 social studies grow up to believe that Americans are the most pow-
erful people on the planet because they are inherently better than the
people who don’t live, think, or speak as they do. Curriculum developed
from such colonialist assumptions taught generations of Americans that
European and U.S. expansionism has been beneficial in “civilizing” and
“helping” the peoples of Africa, Asia, the Americas, and the Middle East.
Other unstated colonialist assumptions continue to shape how (and

which) contemporary global events and issues are taught in social stud-
ies courses (Willinsky, 1998).
We believe that Edward Said’s work in countering Eurocentric his-
tory and literature helps explain the thinking and pedagogy of exem-
plary global educators who overtly challenge “colonialisms” in the social
studies. Said, a Palestinian scholar and teacher, wrote of the power of
“orientalism,” the name he gave to the western construction of knowl-
edge about peoples in the Middle East and Asia that originated during
the colonial period and today continues to shape attitudes, images, and
knowledge. He also developed methods of teaching to overcome orien-
talist thinking through “contrapuntal” (a term from music meaning
characterized by counterpoint) literature and histories that create new
understandings and knowledge. As did DuBois, Edward Said began at a
young age to address dual realities, in his case those of Europeans and
the peoples they had colonized in Palestine and Egypt. In Orientalism he
ponders the “Western style for dominating, restructuring, and having
authority over the Orient” (Said, 1978, p. 3). Drawing from Foucault’s
ideas on discourse, he analyzes European literature from the Enlight-
enment onward. “Orientalist” perspectives (for example, the perspec-
tive that Europeans are civilized and the Orientals are primitive and
barbaric), phrases (“the mysterious East”), and images (a scantily clad
oriental woman as courtesan in an Egyptian harem) speak for the “ori-
entals” in a colonial sort of paternalism that demonstrates the child-par-
ent relationship that the European colonizers tried to place upon the
peoples they colonized (1978, pp. 26–28). Through Orientalism Euro-
peans have projected their perspectives, myths, and misinformation
upon not only upon the Western world but also on the peoples of Asia,
Africa, and elsewhere whom they have oppressed. As in double con-
sciousness, those colonized by the Europeans had to contend with the
colonizer’s reality. As does Ngugi, Said makes the case that orientalist
perspectives dynamically interact with the cultural identities of peoples
who were colonized by Europeans and so continue to influence identity
and thought well past independence.
In Culture and Imperialism, Said counters the hegemony of Orientalist
history and literature by asking the reader to “look back at the cultural
archive” and “reread it not univocally but contrapuntally, with a simulta-
neous awareness both of the metropolitan history that is narrated and of
those histories against which (and together with which) the dominating
discourse acts” (1993, p. 51). Contrapuntal writing and reading can place
Western cultural forms within the global history of imperialism and offer
a more complex view of identities.
An example of the new knowledge would be the study of Orientalism or

Africanism and, to take a related set, the study of Englishness and
Frenchness. These identities are today analyzed not as God-given
essences, but as results of collaboration between African history and the
study of Africa in England, for instance, or between the study of French
history and the reorganization of knowledge during the First Empire.
In an important sense we are dealing with the formation of cultural
identities understood not as essentializations . . . but as contrapuntal en-
sembles, for it is the case that no identity can ever exist by itself and
without an array of opposites, negatives, oppositions: Greeks always re-
quire barbarians, and Europeans Africans, Orientals. (1993, p. 52)
How do global educators decolonize the social studies to teach

global perspectives? One strategy used by the exemplary global educators
we have worked with is contrapuntal or opposing histories and literature.
Teachers have many names—multiple perspectives, alternative histories,
contrasting experiences—to describe how they challenge the Eurocentic
selection of historical events, infuse multiple histories into instruction
and teach their students to critically examine and question their own his-
torical understandings. Instead of a single universal history that applies
to people around the world, multiple and contested histories allow stu-
dents to see human experiences in “hybrid” contexts. The hybridity ap-
proach deemphasizes the homogenous experiences of people and
focuses on the contacts between various groups of people, their hetero-
geneous experiences and histories (McCarthy, 1995, 1998; Said, 1993).
Understanding the complexity of cultures coming together and
changing in dynamic ways is the beginning of a global perspective that
emphasizes connectedness instead of the colonial “us and them” and hy-
bridity instead of the essentialization of races or ethnic groups. Mary
Louis Pratt (1992) calls such interactions between various cultures “con-
tact zones.” For Pratt, contact zones form when two or more cultures meet
and create new cultures. Within the interaction of cultures, there is always
a struggle for power. Unequal relationships are formed, and the domi-
nated cultures resist attempts to be assimilated within dominant cultures.
Infusing alternative histories within the social studies also allows stu-
dents to learn about historical events that are ignored in a Eurocentric
curriculum. As they examine different and conflicting historical under-
standings, students develop a consciousness of human values and how
ideas of what is right and wrong have evolved over time and cultural
change. Through a global perspective of these histories and contempo-
rary events, students begin to understand the complexity of the human
condition past and present and recognize how their decisions affect
others as others’ decisions affect their lives today and tomorrow.
Of course these strategies depend upon teachers countering main-

stream perspectives and teaching students to critically re-examine how
they and other cultures have come to know the world and how power re-
lations influence media, texts and what societies accept as mainstream
knowledge. Unfortunately, world events such as economic and political
conflicts often shape how students learn about people and cultures of the
world. Because of the U.S. involvement in Southeast Asia during the
1960s and the 1970s, many Americans were exposed to cultures and tra-
ditions of Asia through mainstream sources that shaped such knowledge
to fit political agendas. This politicalization of content often created neg-
ative perceptions not only of people in Asia but also people of Asian
ancestry in the United States. The events of 9/11 and the subsequent U.S.
involvement in Iraq and Afghanistan have influenced, often negatively,
how students see the Middle East and Muslim societies in general. When
religions are taught about as a sidebar to understanding terrorists attacks
or linked to American troops’ difficulties in another country, it is highly
unlikely that students will come to appreciate contrapuntal voices and
knowledge or examine how events and issues have global ramifications.
Moving the Center from Colonial to Global Thinking

and Knowledge Construction
In Moving the Centre, Ngugi (1993) suggests a solution to the post-colonial
inheritance of cultural imperialism by “moving the centre.” Not unlike
the use of “margins and mainstream,” written of by Grant (1992), center
and periphery denote geo-power relationships. Ngugi’s goal is to “shift
the base from which to view the world from its narrow base in Europe to
a multiplicity of centres . . . from Asia, Africa and South America” (Ngugi,
1993, p. 6). He is concerned with moving the center within countries and
globally to include all cultures so that none is excluded or, as he describes
what Americans call “Third World” literature in their universities, “treated
as something outside the mainstream” (Ngugi, 1993, p.10).
In infusing the social studies curriculum with skills in perspective
consciousness and knowledge of alternative histories, teachers can con-
struct a world-centered social studies that contributes to “decolonizing”
the mind in that it provides insights into ways of knowing that resist and
challenge the histories, literature, and worldviews of people who have
used scholarship to justify their culture’s imposition of power upon
others. Once students are able to recognize the limitations of colonialist
assumptions in a post-colonial world, they can begin to see the world
from other perspectives and learn from people whose voices they may
never have had the opportunity to hear.
Moving the center of the curriculum means more than simply in-
cluding social studies content on Africa, Asia, Latin American, and the
Middle East in the social studies. If students are to understand relation-
ships across culture, power, and knowledge construction, they must ex-
perience the knowledge, voices, and ideas of people from these regions.
Moving the center means including content from all world regions from
the perspectives of diverse people in those countries. One of the charac-
teristics that exemplary global educators share is their integration of cross-
cultural experiential learning into social studies instruction. Along with
print, computer, and media resources from Africa, Asia, Latin American,
and the Middle East, they also provide cross-cultural experiences for their
students that create a positive interdependence with people who are dif-
ferent from themselves (see also Johnson & Johnson, 1992; Torney-Purta,
1995). For example, in a seventh grade world history course, middle
school students work collaboratively with international students from a
local university to understand how globalization has influenced ways of
living and cultural norms in China, Ghana, Mexico, Poland, India, and
Iran. In world geography, high school students interview immigrants
from Central America and read the writings of Rigo-berta Menchu, the
Indian writer from Guatemala, as part of their research on the complex-
ity of cultural conflict in Central America. In a fifth grade U.S. history
course, students learn about how certain events in U.S. history are taught
in schools in Canada, Mexico, the Philippines, and Liberia and then dis-
cuss through e-mail with fifth graders in Ireland what they should know
about each other’s histories. In a U.S. Government class, students listen to
scholars from South Africa describe their country’s debate and develop-
ment of a new constitution for a post-apartheid multiracial society.
Here then is the heart of a world-centered global education. Students
examine who they are through work in perspective consciousness and in-
teraction with people from diverse cultures. They recognize the interac-
tion of power with culture and knowledge and appreciate the perceptual
skills that come with dual consciousness. They critically look at how they
developed their own worldviews—the values and beliefs underlying their
knowledge and assumptions about their own culture and those of others—
as they explore histories, literature, and experiences of people across time
and space. They are aware of the importance of seeing history, contempo-
rary events, and global systems through the eyes of others even though
they may not agree with them, for they appreciate that they must under-
stand diverse and conflicting points of view locally and globally if they are
to understand and interact effectively within the world in which they live.
They develop skills in cross-cultural communication and cooperation and
recognize that their understanding of the world is dependent on learning
from and working with people different from themselves.
We began this chapter with reference to the social studies goals of

enculturating young people into what it means to be American and in
preparing young people for civic competence. Global education ad-
dresses these goals through the knowledge and skills young people need
in order to understand and interact effectively within their community,
nation, and world in an era characterized by dynamic global intercon-
nectedness. In the twentieth century our planet and its peoples have
changed more than in any other era of human history. These changes
must be reflected in the social studies so that we prepare our young peo-
ple to take responsibility for their country’s role in a global age. As Pratt,
discussing her use of Menchu’s writing in her classes, notes below, the
civic responsibilities of young Americans have global ramifications:
Finally, there was the issue of responsibility. The people in the centers
of power must, Menchu stressed, begin to take responsibility for the
role of their societies and their governments in producing conditions
the rest of the world must endure. Her call was not for North Americans
to change Guatemala—“We can do that,” she said—but for them to do
something about North America. This, when the hour closes, is the
message I try to leave with the classes I teach. (Pratt, 1996, p. 71)
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CHAPTER 16
TEACHING DEMOCRACY
WHAT SCHOOLS NEED TO DO
Joseph Kahne and Joel Westheimer
Which of the following headlines never appeared in a daily newspaper?
(a) Capital City Students Show No Gain in Reading, Math—

Governor Threatens Takeover
(b) Middletown Schools to be Taken Over by State for Failure
to Develop Democratic Citizens
If you answered (b), you not only answered correctly, your response
also reflected an important challenge facing our democracy today: Al-
though we say that we value a democratic society, the very institutions ex-
pected to prepare democratic citizens—our schools—have moved far
from this central mission. There is now frequent talk of “state takeovers”
of schools that fail to raise test scores in math or reading, but it is
unimaginable that any school would face such an action because it failed
to prepare its graduates for democratic citizenship.
The headlines we read instead are about test scores, basic skills, and
the role schools play in preparing students for jobs in the information
age. The vast bulk of school resources are going to literacy, mathematics,
science, and vocational education. In 2003, for example, federal expen-
ditures by the Department of Education on Civic Education totaled less
than half of one percent of the overall Department budget.1
And when it comes to assessment, civic goals get very little attention.
The No Child Left Behind (NCLB) Act mandates yearly testing in math
and reading and, beginning in 2005, science. Social studies and civic edu-
cation, the areas of the curriculum most tied to the democratic mission of
schools, share no such requirements. Similarly, the National Assessment of
297
298 Joseph Kahne and Joel Westheimer
Educational Progress (NAEP), which is often referred to as the “Nations

Report Card,” measures performance in math and reading annually, but
administers a civics assessment only once every ten years. Clearly, math,
reading, and science are important, but, from the standpoint of support-
ing a democratic society, academic subject matter, when disconnected
from its social relevance, is insufficient.
This chapter is concerned with what is not being discussed in the
newspapers. We are concerned with an important gap in our educational
agenda: preparing students to be effective democratic citizens.
For two and a half years, we studied ten educational programs
(funded by the Surdna Foundation) that were unusual in that they put
the challenge of educating for democratic citizenship at the center of
their efforts (Kahne & Westheimer, 2003; Westheimer, 2004; West-
heimer & Kahne, 2003; Kahne & Westheimer, 2006).2 We studied tenth
graders evaluating a juvenile detention center, ninth graders studying
the feasibility of curb-side recycling, and eleventh graders reporting to
the public on the availability of affordable housing in their community.
We examined programs that exposed university students to community
development proj-ects in Silicon Valley, brought theology majors to
a reservation to study the history of Native American experience, and
led students interested in social movements on an intensive journey
through historical sites of the civil rights movement. We visited an adult
education program with a 70-year history of working for social and eco-
nomic change through education and democratic action. All in all, we
interviewed dozens of instructors and students, administered more than
500 surveys, observed pedagogical practices, and examined portfolios of
student work.
These programs share an emphasis on helping students to identify
and act on issues of importance to themselves and to society. The words
of a high school teacher from one program echo those of many others
we interviewed: “My goal is to empower students to rectify problems, to
come up with solutions, and to join with other people so that they can
become truly active citizens.”
By studying these programs and their impact, we have been able to
learn a great deal about how such goals can be attained. The programs
we studied approached the development of democratic citizens in dif-
ferent ways and worked with varied populations, but common curricular
components emerged from our analysis. Unfortunately, neither these
goals nor these curricular components are getting much attention in
most current school reform efforts. Social studies educators can fill this
gap. Indeed if schools are to fulfill their historic ideal of laying the foun-
dation for a democratic society, these goals and curricular components
must be given much more attention.
Teaching Democracy 299
Why Teach Democracy?
Targeting what people don’t know about how our government works
has become a favorite pastime not only of Jay Leno but also of educa-
tors and politicians: one study, by the National Constitution Center,
found that only 38% of respondents could name all three branches of
government while a separate poll conducted two years earlier found
that 59% of all Americans could name the Three Stooges (Dudley &
Gitlesen, 2000). Yet even if Leno discovered an impressive show of fac-
tual knowledge among the nation’s young people, democracy would
still face significant hurdles.
The numbers that chronicle declining civic engagement are becom-
ing increasingly familiar. Twenty-five percent fewer citizens go to the
polls today to vote than did in 1960, and the largest declines are among
young people. Political participation, such as working for a political
party, is at a 40-year low. Broadly speaking, as Robert Putnam (2000)
demonstrates, “Americans are playing virtually every aspect of the civic
game less frequently than we did two decades ago” (p. 41). Although
young people’s voting rates increased somewhat in the November 2004
elections in the United States, youth voters remained roughly the same
proportion of the total electorate and we do not yet know if this rebound
in overall participation represents a unique occurrence or the beginning
of a sustained trend.
It’s not that citizens are incapable of keeping up with current affairs
or of acting on their views. When the Coca-Cola Company announced it
was changing the recipe of its signature soft drink, its Atlanta headquar-
ters received 40,000 letters of protest and fielded 5,000 phone calls per
day for months (Thomas, 1990). More than 24 million young Americans
cast votes to elect last season’s “American Idol” (Paskoff, 2003). The
problem instead is that citizens (and particularly young citizens) are
often disengaged from politics.
Young people need to be taught to make democracy work, to engage
civically, socially, and politically. At the same time that lobbyists are
spending hundreds of millions of dollars, many ordinary citizens are pas-
sive and apathetic when it comes to major issues that affect their lives. If
policies regarding the environment, taxes, military spending, and health
care—to name just a few—are to reflect public sentiments rather than
the interests of well-financed lobbyists, they require the attention of or-
dinary citizens. Improving society requires making democracy work. And
making democracy work requires that schools, and social studies educa-
tors in particular, take this goal seriously: to educate and nurture en-
gaged and informed democratic citizens.
What Is a Democratic Citizen?

Although most may agree that civic participation is in decline, when we
get specific about what democracy requires and about what kind of school
curricula will best promote it, much of the consensus falls away. For some,
a commitment to democracy is a promise to protect liberal notions of
freedom, while for others democracy is primarily about equality. For
some, civil society is the key, while for others, free markets are the great
hope for a democratic society. For some, good citizens in a democracy vol-
unteer, while for others, they take active parts in political processes by vot-
ing, protesting, and working on political campaigns.
These visions of citizenship are not always in conflict. A citizen who
volunteers can simultaneously be a good neighbor and work to change
unjust laws, for example. But when it comes to decisions about curricu-
lum, these goals do not necessarily go together; activities that address the
goals of one vision of citizenship do not necessarily address goals related
to another vision. So before we report on ways successful programs we
studied developed democratic citizens, we should clarify what we mean
by a democratic citizen.
A strikingly large number of school-based programs embrace a vision
of citizenship devoid of politics. This is particularly true of the commu-
nity service and character education initiatives that have garnered so
much recent attention. These programs aim to promote service and
good character, but not democracy. They share an orientation toward
developing individual character (honesty, integrity, self-discipline, hard
work), volunteerism, and charity and away from teaching about social
movements, social transformation, and systemic change. The Character
Counts! Coalition, for example, advocates teaching students to “treat
others with respect . . . deal peacefully with anger . . . be considerate of
the feelings of others . . . follow the Golden Rule . . . use good manners”
and so on. It wants students not to “threaten, hit, or hurt anyone [or use]
bad language” (Character Counts, 1996). Other programs hope to de-
velop compassionate citizens by engaging students in volunteer activities.
As illustrated in the mission of the Points of Light Foundation, these pro-
grams hope to “help solve serious social problems” by “engag[ing] more
people more effectively in volunteer service.”3 These programs privilege
individual acts of compassion and kindness over collective efforts to
improve policies and institutions.
The emphasis placed on service and character is also reflected in col-
lege-based service-learning programs. In a recent analysis by the Depart-
ment of Housing and Urban Development (HUD) of 599 college
programs, researchers found that 50% involved direct service, including
tutoring, serving food, clothes collections, and blood drives. Another
42% provided technical assistance such as computer training and lead-
ership classes. A mere 1% involved political advocacy such as building

tenant councils, drafting legislation, and so on (U.S. Department of
Housing and Urban Development, 1999, cited in Robinson, 2000).
Democracy Requires More Than Good Deeds

Although programs that emphasize service and character may be valu-
able for supporting the development of good community members, they
are inadequate for the challenges of educating a democratic citizenry.
First, emphasizing individual character and behavior obscures the
need for collective and often public sector initiatives. Volunteers can
help the elderly cope with daily difficulties, but it took Social Security to
reduce the proportion of senior citizens living in poverty from one in two
(the highest rate of poverty for any demographic group) to fewer than
one in eight (Porter, Larin, & Primus, 1999).
Second, this emphasis on individual character distracts attention
from economic and political obstacles to remedying social ills. For ex-
ample, programs that rely on character training to bolster democracy do
not encourage participants to explore whether people are poor because
of personal “character flaws” or because there are far fewer jobs that pay
living wages than there are people to fill them (Kohn, 1997; Lafer,
2002).4 To the extent that these character development programs de-
tract from other important democratic priorities, they hinder rather
than make possible democratic participation and change. Emphasizing
loyalty, patriotism, or obedience (common components of character ed-
ucation as well) can lead to anti-democratic forms of civic education if it
constrains the kind of critical reflection, dialogue, and action that are es-
sential in a democratic society. Indeed, government leaders in a totali-
tarian regime would be as delighted as leaders in a democracy if their
young citizens learned the lessons put forward by many of the propo-
nents of these citizenship programs: don’t do drugs, show up at school,
show up at work on time, say the pledge of allegiance, give blood, help
others during a flood, recycle, pick up litter, clean up a park, treat elders
with respect, and so on. Chinese leader Hu Jintao and George W. Bush
might both argue that these are desirable traits for people living in a
community. But they are not about democratic citizenship.
Third, volunteerism is often put forward as a way of avoiding politics
and policy. As Harry Boyte (1991) notes, “volunteers usually disavow con-
cern with larger policy questions, seeing service as an alternative to politics”
(p.766, emphasis in original). Research bears out these concerns. A study
commissioned by the National Association of Secretaries of State (1999),
for example, found that less than 32% of eligible voters between the ages of
18 and 24 voted in the 1996 Presidential election, but that a whopping 94%
of those between the ages of 15 and 24 believed that “the most important
thing I can do as a citizen is to help others.” In a very real sense, then, young
people seem to be “learning” that democratic citizenship does not require
government, politics, or even collective endeavors. The vision promoted by
most of these educational initiatives is one of citizenship without politics or collective
action—a commitment to individual service, but not to democracy.
The Democratic Citizen

Certainly honesty, responsibility for one’s actions, and a willingness to
help out voluntarily are valuable character traits for good neighbors and
citizens, but these traits are not inherently about democracy. If democ-
racy is to be effective at improving society, people need to exert power
over issues that affect their lives. Although citizens can and should vol-
unteer to help out when help is needed, these activities will not ensure
that governmental policies and practices are effective or that they reflect
public preferences. A democratic citizens’ effectiveness is buttressed by
the skills needed for civic engagement (for example, how to work in a
group, speak in public, forge coalitions among varied interests, and
protest or petition for change).
Opportunities to connect academic knowledge to analysis of social
issues are also essential for informed decision making. In addition,
knowledge of democratic processes, of particular issues, and of how to at-
tain and analyze information is crucial. Democratic citizens are, for ex-
ample, able to examine structural causes of social problems and seek
solutions, work that might be informed by their knowledge of social
movements and various strategies for change. Finally, democratic values
of tolerance, respect for individual and group identities, and concern for
the greater good are all fundamentally important. Since conceptions of
that greater good will differ, citizens must be able to dialogue with and
learn from those who hold different perspectives and, at the same time,
know how to effectively promote their own goals in contentious political
arenas (Gibson & Levine, 2003; Parker, 2003).5
Is this too tall an order? We don’t think so. Is it possible for educa-
tion programs to develop citizens prepared to strengthen our democ-
racy? Absolutely. Programs with goals such as these are not as common as
community service and character education programs, but where they
exist they have demonstrated impressive results.
Beyond Service and Character: Programs that Teach

Democracy
To illustrate models for teaching democracy that move beyond ser-
vice associated with citizenship, we showcase three of the programs we
studied. The first (The Frederick County Youth Service League) is part of a
high school U.S. government course, the second is a college-level pro-
gram (The Overground Railroad), and the third is an adult education pro-
gram (The Highlander Democracy Schools Initiative). Each program
highlights curricular strategies that can be used by social studies educa-
tors and others when teaching democracy.
1. The Frederick County Youth Service League. The Frederick County
Youth Service League is part of a high school government course that
places students in internships in local county offices, where they
undertake substantive, semester-long projects. It was organized with
support from the Close-up Foundation. One group we observed inves-
tigated the feasibility of curb-side recycling in their county by conduct-
ing phone interviews, examining maps of the city’s population density,
and analyzing projected housing growth and environmental impacts.
Another group identified jobs that prisoners incarcerated for less than
90 days could perform and analyzed the cost and efficacy of similar pro-
grams in other localities. Other students identified strategies to in-
crease immunization rates for children, and still others examined the
availability of adequate affordable housing in their county. In all of
these projects, the students took on responsibilities that required in-
terpersonal, work-related, and analytic skills. These experiences also
provided an up-close look at the ways government organizations inter-
act with the public and with private businesses in formulating policies
that affect the community.
2. The Overground Railroad. Students and faculty members from six
colleges came together over the summer to learn in intensive and ex-
periential ways about the Civil Rights Movement and its implications
for citizenship today.6 For three weeks students in the Overground Rail-
road project traveled throughout the South, visiting historic sites of the
civil rights and anti-slavery movements and meeting with historic lead-
ers of these movements and with others engaged in similar efforts
today. They saw films about civil rights, read related academic litera-
ture, and discussed and analyzed their experiences. The students
talked with Reverend Fred Shuttlesworth, a civil rights leader, about
events in Birmingham in the 1960s and his role in the movement. They
spoke with a sanitation worker in Memphis who participated in the
strike in 1968 and with Judge Sugarman, a lawyer who had worked on
the sanitation workers’ case. They traveled to Selma to meet with a
woman who had been part of the march across the Edmund Pettus
Bridge and with a former leader of the Student Nonviolent Coordinat-
ing Committee. When they returned to their respective campuses in
the fall, they initiated projects that were informed by the ideas and
strategies they studied.
3. The Highlander Democracy Schools Initiative. A third project we stud-

ied worked with adults who were already active in their communities.
Drawing on the Highlander Center’s long history of community educa-
tion and change (see Horton, 1997), the Democracy Schools Initiative
was designed to help rural communities in Appalachia devise grassroots
strategies about how to “revitalize democracy in all areas of people’s lives:
family, community, government and economy.” Consisting of a series of
four weekend retreats, the curriculum mixed training for political analy-
sis and action with opportunities to meet others doing similar work. For
example, one weekend included sharing the work going on in each par-
ticipant’s community, strategic planning for effecting change, brain-
storming on resources and skills required, and learning from guest
presenters and panelists about community change strategies.
What We Learned About How To Teach Democracy

Using before-and-after (pre–post) surveys and systematic analysis of ob-
servations, interviews, and portfolios of student work, we were able to
track changes in students’ commitments to and capacities for democratic
participation. In a survey designed to measure commitments to civic in-
volvement, we documented statistically significant increases in students’
ability and desire to understand and act on pressing social needs, in their
willingness to devote time to addressing these needs, and in their confi-
dence of being able to act on their beliefs as a result of their participa-
tion in these programs.
Student interviews reinforced these survey findings. For example,
James, a lifelong resident of Montgomery County, West Virginia, reported
that his participation in Highlander’s Democracy School “influenced how
I view my responsibility as a citizen and as a person in the community.”
And Stephanie, a college student, explained that, after her intensive Over-
ground Railroad experience, she could not go back to turning a blind eye
to civil rights and moral obligations. “I know I can’t save the whole world,”
she told us, but “when I see something go wrong, I need to say something.
I just can’t keep my mouth shut, because this experience has changed me.”
Perhaps most interesting were the programs in which the students
started without any particular commitment to community involvement.
Indeed, many in the Frederick County Youth Service League told us that
they had previously had little interest in community affairs and had been
quite skeptical of local government and related community institutions.
As a result of their experiences, however, their perspectives changed
markedly. Indeed, during the interviews following their participation in
the program, we asked students to identify a community problem. More
than 50% surprised us by stating “lack of involvement in the commu-
nity.” As one student told us, “I think if more people were aware of what
has happened in the government we wouldn’t have as many problems,

because they would understand that people do have an impact.”
How did the programs accomplish these goals? What curricular fea-
tures seem most promising? In what follows, we discuss answers to these
questions that emerged from our research.
Why We Want “C” Students: Civic Commitment,

Capacity, and Connection
Pedagogical and curricular strategies for supporting the development of
democratic citizens are numerous and range from leadership courses, to
courses in U.S. history, to such experiences as participation in a Model
United Nations (Billig, 2000; Gibson & Levine, 2003; Torney-Purta,
2002). As we looked for common features of the successful programs we
studied, however, three broad priorities emerged: promoting democratic
commitments, capacities, and connections to others with similar goals. Below
we describe these priorities and some of the ways they were pursued.
(See Table 16.1 for a schematic presentation of the relation of these fea-
tures to civic education.)
Table 16.1 Common Features of Successful Civic Education Programs

What Students Ask Teaching Democracy Results
COMMITMENT
Why should I be commit- For example: show stu- I am committed to civic

ted to actively engaging dents that society needs engagement because I
issues in my community improving and provide know about problems in
and beyond? positive experiences the community and I
seeking solutions know that I can help
because I’ve done it and
enjoyed it
How can I engage issues? For example: engage I have the skills, knowl-
students in real-world edge, and networks I
CAPACITY
projects; teach civic skills need to act effectively

and provide knowledge for change in my com-
through workshops and munity and beyond
simulations so students
can be effective civic
actors
Who is going to engage For example: provide a I know and admire peo-
CONNECTION
issues with me? supportive community ple who have made a dif-
of peers and connec- ference in the past and
tions to role models feel connected to those
who want to make a dif-
ference now, and I want
to join them
Commitment
“It’s Boring”
“We don’t care about it.”
These are the kinds of responses we heard when we asked a focus group of
high school seniors in a traditional government class what they felt about
government and politics ( see also Kahne, Chi, & Middaugh, in press). Per-
haps it should not be surprising, then, that the fraction of citizens who re-
ported caring about current political affairs has declined from about 25%
between 1960 and 1976 to only 5% by 2000 (Gibson & Levine, 2003). This
context helps explain why all of the successful programs we examined em-
phasized developing students’ commitments to actively engaging social is-
sues and working for change. In pursuing this goal, they often employed
two strategies: they helped students identify social problems in need of at-
tention, and they provided motivating experiences in working for change.
1. Show students that society needs improving by examining social problems
and controversial issues. It is common for educators to talk about preparing
students to be informed citizens, capable of active participation in our
democratic system. It is much less common for them to help students un-
derstand why they should bother. This omission is costly. Again and
again in our student interviews we heard that exposure to and discussion
of instances of injustice motivated students to act. As a student in the
Overground Railroad program told us: “Once you see the issues, you feel
compelled to do something and not just be part of the system.” Another
student reported “We have this information, and we all feel like we have
to go and do something. I feel a big responsibility placed on me.”
The lesson may seem obvious, but it is not reflected in many social
studies classrooms: a clear and compelling case that things need chang-
ing motivates and informs commitments to participate.
Knowing what needs changing, however, is not always straightfor-
ward. Many educators are understandably hesitant to expose students to
troubling problems such as poverty, race or gender discrimination, and
environmental degradation. There is a tendency to avoid burdening stu-
dents with these weighty problems—and to avoid controversial issues
that might bring concerned parents and others to the principal’s door.
Unfortunately, such hesitancy is likely to deter students from active en-
gagement with community issues by concealing from them the gravity of
the problems and their compelling nature.
Although care is certainly warranted when discussing controversial is-
sues, our study revealed that keeping social issues out of the classroom is
not. The sense that something is wrong is compelling, especially to adoles-
cents who are already developing their own critiques of the world. Stu-
dents need not agree with each other or with the teachers in their analysis
of social and political issues. Simply discussing issues in classroom con-

texts recognizes their importance and at the same time helps make con-
nections between critique, analysis, and action (Hess & Posselt, 2002).
Students begin to see the value not only in studying these problems but
also in doing something to try to address them. As the Progressive educa-
tor Harold Rugg observed:
To guarantee maximum understanding, the very foundation of educa-

tion must be the study of the actual problems and controversial issues of
our people. . . . [T]he avoidance of controversy is a travesty of both
knowledge and democracy. To keep issues out of the school, therefore,
is to keep thought out of it; it is to keep life out of it. (Rugg, 1941, That
Men May Understand, quoted in Fine, 1995)
Why would we expect students to commit to involvement if there are no

problems in need of attention? In all of the programs we studied, teachers
embraced controversial social and political issues—indeed they sought
them out—with the same commitment and gusto that other educators have
shown in avoiding them. The teachers in the programs we studied consis-
tently made efforts to expose students to compelling social problems and
overcome what John Dewey warned is the “divorce between . . . knowledge
and social action” (1975, p. 41).
2. Provide positive experiences in civic participation. It’s hard to be com-
mitted to something you’ve never experienced. This simple truism has
significant implications for educators, but many who espouse commit-
ments to developing active citizens for a democracy neglect this basic re-
ality. Often, field trips to City Hall and other opportunities to learn about
“how government works” fail to demonstrate the power and significance
of civic/democratic action. Schools provide opportunities “to know” but
few opportunities “to do”—an unfortunate oversight when it comes to
fostering civic commitment.
We found that positive experiences in civic participation strength-
ened students’ commitments. The Youth Service League students, for ex-
ample, consistently emphasized the impact of their experiences both on
the community and on themselves. As one student explained about a
curb-side recycling project:
I thought it was just going to be another project. You know, we do some re-
search, it gets written down and we leave and it gets put on the shelf some-
where. But, this is going to be a real thing. It’s really going to happen.
Another student from the same project told us, “I didn’t realize this
was going to be as big as what it is. I mean, we’ve been in the newspa-
per four times.”
Perhaps most importantly from the standpoint of commitments to

civic involvement, students linked their positive experiences to their de-
sire for continued participation. For example, one student noted, “I
didn’t realize we could have as much influence as we did. One person
can really make a change in the community.” When we asked him
whether this experience changed the way he thought about being a citi-
zen, he replied that his project showed him that all citizens “have a re-
sponsibility to voice their opinion by either writing letters or talking to
people who control the county, state, or federal government.” Other stu-
dents expressed similar satisfaction from what they accomplished as well
as the intent to remain engaged in civic affairs in the future.
Although most programs in our study prompted similar gains in stu-
dents’ commitment to civic engagement through educational experi-
ences in the community, this outcome was not guaranteed. Indeed, in
one of the programs we studied, frustrating experiences trying to bring
about change led to statistically significant decreases, rather than in-
creases, in commitments to future civic involvement. These decreases
were reflected in both our survey data and our interviews with students.
This student’s response about her experiences was typical: “We were try-
ing to get anyone to listen to us, but we kept running into all this red
tape that said ‘No you can’t do that’ or ‘Oh, you want to do that, well
you’ll have to go to that office over there.’ I just kind of got the impres-
sion that nobody really wanted to do anything about it.”
For this group of students, the sense of frustration was widespread.
In response to interview and in-class reflection questions such as “What
did you learn from these activities?” the students answered, “If you go out
into the community and try to do good, someone will pull you down,”
“Basically, they were wasting our time and theirs too,” and “it’s hard to
get anyone to listen to you.” Although experience may be a powerful
teacher, when working in the often frustrating area of social change,
careful planning and attention are needed to avoid producing a sense of
discouragement or hopelessness. Although students will always en-
counter challenges and barriers, it appears crucial to structure opportu-
nities so that students can maintain a sense of hope through the
realization of short-term successes and ample opportunities to reflect col-
lectively on discouraging experiences (Kahne & Westheimer, 2006).
Capacity
It is hard to see yourself as a carpenter if you don’t know how to design a
cabinet or a bookshelf and lack the woodworking skills to translate a de-
sign into practice. Effective citizenship in a democracy is no different.
Teaching students to see themselves as participants in civic affairs and
enabling them to engage civic and political issues effectively requires

helping students develop capacities and skills that make such an identity
meaningful. Yet recent studies show an alarming dearth of knowledge
and skill with regard to civic participation among youth and young
adults. For example, 35% of high school seniors tested below the basic
level on the NAEP civics test with another 39% at the basic level and only
4% at the advanced level (Center for Education Statistics, 1998). If stu-
dents are to see themselves as capable of participation then they will
need to develop the skills and knowledge that make that possible. The
programs we studied understood this, although they pursued these goals
in different ways. Some had their students plunge into real-world proj-
ects, while others taught skills through workshops and simulations.
1. Engage Students in Real-World Projects: Programs like the Frederick
County Youth Service League taught strategies for community change
through projects that required students to develop such skills as speaking
in public, using visual aids, facilitating meetings, conducting research,
canvassing a community, and designing surveys. Each group of students,
working closely with their teacher and the field site supervisor, culmi-
nated its project with a presentation to the County Board of Supervisors.
Each group got tips on how to make its brief presentation interesting, on
how to use presentation software, and on how to ensure that the primary
message was communicated. As the students developed these skills, they
increasingly viewed their own participation in civic affairs as more plau-
sible and appropriate. In this sense, each student’s identity as an
engaged, democratic citizen followed his or her capacity to be one.
2. Teach skills and provide knowledge through workshops and simulations:
Rather than engage students in actual projects of civic importance, other
programs successfully developed students’ civic skills and knowledge
through workshops, simulations, and classroom instruction. For example,
many of the programs connected preparation and motivation for civic
and political engagement with traditional content (e.g., how a bill be-
comes a law) as well as with content knowledge linked to particular issues.
Skill development also received substantial attention. During a
three-day workshop, the Highlander Democracy Schools Initiative taught
students strategies for effecting change in their home communities.
Groups of workshop participants chose scenarios. For example, imagine
that you just found out that your school is eliminating its breakfast and
free or reduced-price lunch program. Or imagine that you just found out
that banks are not lending money to anyone who wants to buy a house
in your part of town. What would you do?
The Highlander program also taught skills directly, and then applied
what students had learned to discussions of actual problems in their home
communities. In interviews, participants in the Highlander program and
in other similar programs stressed the importance of learning practical

skills, something that, as one student put it, “I can take away and tomorrow
hit the ground running with it.” In other words, the skills, knowledge, and
strategies for change that participants acquired enabled them to develop
meaningful civic identities by employing these new capacities to actually
make a difference.
Connection
Ask someone active in his or her community to describe a powerful ex-
perience working for change, and you will probably get a story heavily in-
fused with a sense of camaraderie, collaboration, and connection to
others doing similar work. Students need to know that civic engagement
is not an individual, private endeavor. Indeed, if we say that the goal for
civic educators is to “teach every student good citizenship,” we risk im-
plying that “good and effective” citizenship is derived exclusively from
personal attributes rather than enabled and shaped through interactions
and connections among individuals within a community.7 Moreover, psy-
chologists, sociologists, and anthropologists have long recognized that
an individual’s values and commitments are not predetermined human
characteristics but rather are products of family, community, and the so-
cial setting (Berman, 1997). Cultivating commitments to democratic cit-
izenship requires associating with others who recognize and reinforce
the importance of these priorities.
These connections are especially important in a culture that does lit-
tle to reinforce the value of civic participation. Consider that for most
school-age children, the number of trips to the mall is exponentially
higher than those to the voting booth, to community meetings, and so
on. Despite the importance of connections to others who deem civic par-
ticipation exciting and valuable, few educational programs make devel-
oping a supportive community an explicit curricular goal. The programs
we studied, however, consciously developed communities of support and
fostered connections with role models who could exemplify a life filled
with civic engagement.
1. Communities of Support. Each of the ten programs we studied—
both those based in schools and those situated outside of them—took se-
riously the notion that teaching civic engagement requires the creation
of a social milieu that reinforce values and behaviors consistent with active
civic involvement. Students need to be part of social communities that
have the strength to counter the prevailing cultural emphasis on individ-
ualism and personal gain. A student from Highlander described the con-
nection she felt working with others who believe in the same things she
did. “Without Highlander,” she observed, “I probably would have been
back in a corporate job that wouldn’t let me create change in my com-
munity in the ways that are so important to me.” Another Highlander

participant made clear the sense of identity he derives from being a part
of a community of civic actors: “I cannot separate Highlander from who
I am, and I cannot tell you when it made an impact or how because it is
so integrated with who I have become.”
Like sports teams and religious groups, communities of civic actors
unite people around a common sense of purpose. Instead of winning a
pennant, these communities focus on advancing democratic citizen-
ship and achieving specific social goals—securing more funding for
HIV research, protecting the environment, and so on. Even for those
already engaged in efforts to bring about change, the value of commu-
nity membership can have clear practical significance as well. “I know
that folks with a lot of technical expertise are a telephone call away,”
one participant explained, “If I get into trouble, there is a whole net-
work that can come running, and I’ve made that call. But even if I had
never had to, that would still be the most important thing to know: that
I was not alone.”
2. Connections to Compelling Role Models. Many programs emphasize
exposure to compelling role models to help students develop a vision for
a life filled with civic commitments. Some of the programs we studied
teamed students with accomplished civic actors; some invited role mod-
els to speak to the class; and others had highly accomplished civic actors
facilitate the entire curriculum. Each offered a connection to history and
served as an example of the possibility of creating and the responsibility
to work toward a better society.
As part of their Overground Railroad program, for example, stu-
dents heard a talk by Reverend Teresa Jones, who recalled personal ex-
periences of intimidation and violence during the early 1960s, when she
was helping to register black voters in hostile southern counties. Inter-
views with and surveys of participants in the Overground Railroad indi-
cated that students drew substantial strength from these kinds of
encounters—strength that helped them imagine choices that often con-
flicted dramatically with the norms and priorities of their peers. One stu-
dent recognized that, when Reverend Jones helped to organize the voter
registration drive, she was not much older than the students themselves.
He observed that these “teenagers were willing to put their life on the
line so that I could sit here and hold a conversation with you.” Or as a dif-
ferent student explained,
What’s been most important is meeting people who really dedicated

their lives. It’s not a side-line thing, on weekends or something. This is
their life. That means a lot to me, because I often get discouraged or
think that after college I’ll have to go into the real world and get a suit
and what have you.
Indeed, since one of the main tasks for students in high school and
college is to figure out who they want to become and how they hope to
engage in their communities, exposure to inspiring role models can be
quite powerful. Just as it is natural to introduce aspiring students to ar-
chitects or scientists or social workers, if our goal is for all students to be-
come engaged democratic citizens, then we need to expose them to role
models of civic engagement. As another student explained, “I’m in this
point in time where I’m trying to figure out what to do with my life, and
it’s good to see role models like that.”
While the value of such exposure may not be surprising, it is inter-
esting that several students emphasized that exposure to “ordinary” indi-
viduals, rather than to “famous” individuals often had the greatest
impact. In contrast to the ubiquitous school programs that hold up Mar-
tin Luther King Jr. as a hero to be respected (but not necessarily emu-
lated), these programs offered role models appeared to be ordinary
people—not unlike the students. Encountering such people spurred stu-
dents to imagine themselves as civic actors formulating and pursuing
their own civic goals. When Reverend Jones ended her presentation
about what happened in the 1960s, she added “That’s what we did when
we were in college. Now it’s your turn.” Her message was clear: her sto-
ries were not to be dismissed as titillating tidbits of a nostalgic past but
rather stories about what is possible when citizens commit to act. Many
programs we observed used connection to the past to show students the
possibilities for the future, that ordinary people can work together to im-
prove society and achieve extraordinary results. “Now it’s your turn” was
an appeal these students took seriously.
The Challenge of Teaching Democracy

If we believe that democratic processes—slow and imperfect as they
are—are our best hope for securing a just and dynamic future, then so-
cial studies educators have an important role to play. Unfortunately,
while superintendents and school mission statements mention such pri-
orities, that’s frequently as far as it goes. Policy makers and district lead-
ers are focused on academic priorities—particularly those measured by
high stakes exams (Ohanian, 1999, 2000). Is it important to learn math,
history, English, and science? Yes. Is this focus enough to sustain a demo-
cratic society? No.
Having studied programs that effectively promote democratic goals,
we find ourselves confronting a relatively straightforward conclusion:
bolstering our efforts to teach the academic disciplines—whether pur-
sued through high-stakes exams or well-crafted curriculum frame-
works—will, on its own, be insufficient to further the goals of teaching
democracy. Indeed, Gandhi, when asked what made him saddest in life,
replied, “The hard heart of the world’s most educated.” Academic study
(even in the social studies) does not guarantee our humanity, and it will
not sustain our democracy. If we care about educating democratic citi-
zens, we must enlarge and enrich both our educational priorities and
our practices.
Fortunately, there are other options. The approaches we witnessed,
while they varied to match particular contexts, shared a focus on civic
commitment, capacity, and connections and often pursued these goals
in similar ways. The programs pursued the development of civic commit-
ment by exposing students to problems in society and by creating oppor-
tunities for students to have positive experiences while working toward
solutions. Students’ civic capacity was developed by providing specific op-
portunities for them to learn skills and acquire the knowledge they
needed in order to participate in democratic deliberation and action.
And civic connections were pursued through the creation of supportive
communities and exposure to role models. In these ways students devel-
oped a sense of the history of social change, of who they might become,
and of how they might fit into contemporary efforts to improve society.
By developing commitment, capacity, and connections, each of these
programs helped teach democracy.
Social studies courses are especially well suited to further these goals.
For example, social studies educators could make a systematic effort to
expose students to five compelling civic role models a year. Similarly, it
would not be hard to integrate into the curriculum discussions of social
problems, current events, and controversial issues that students find
compelling. Moving in this direction would help expose the fallacy of a
zero-sum or either/or relationship between academic and democratic
purposes of education. Democratic and academic goals can be pursued
simultaneously. There are also many existing social studies curricula suit-
able for large-scale implementation that use community projects, simu-
lations, and related approaches to integrate academic and democratic
priorities. Specifically, the Constitutional Rights Foundation’s CityWorks
curriculum and the Center for Civic Education’s We the People curricu-
lum have both demonstrated their effectiveness in relation to civic goals
(Leming, 1993; Kahne, Chi, Middaugh, in press).
Democracy won’t run on autopilot. Fortunately, we already know
how to do much that needs to be done, and social studies educators are
well-positioned to lead the way. What we currently lack is an adequate ed-
ucational commitment to democracy. What we need to make democracy
work are teachers committed to developing students’ civic commitment,
capacity, and connections and educational policy makers who will sup-
port their efforts.
Notes
1. U.S. Department of Education Budget, available at www.ed.gov/offices/
OUS/Budget04/04app.pdf
2. This chapter is based on an article that appeared in the September 2003
issue of Phi Delta Kappan. It is one of a set of articles and book chapters report-
ing on a study of programs that aimed to promote democratic values and effec-
tive citizenry. For an analysis of the politics that underlie different conceptions of
citizenship, see Westheimer and Kahne (2004). For our findings on the role effi-
cacy plays and the limits of deliberately structuring programs to be successful, see
Kahne and Westheimer (2006). For a discussion of neutrality and indoctrination,
see Westheimer and Kahne (2003). Finally, for a discussion of the chilling effects
of post-9/11 patriotic sentiments on democracy in K–12 schools, see Westheimer
(2004). All of these articles are available at www.democraticdialogue.com
3. Points of Light mission statement. www.pointsoflight.org. May 2003.
4. For a critique of character education programs along these lines, see
Kohn (1997). For analysis of the job market and its disconnect from character
building job training programs, see Lafer (2002).
5. For a well-conceived description of goals for civic education, see Gibson
and Levine (2003); for a description of the complexities of pursuing democratic
goals amid diversity, see Parker (2003).
6. The Overground Railroad/Agora Project was a collaboration between six
private colleges in Kentucky, Indiana, Minnesota, North Carolina, and Ohio with
Berea (Kentucky) College and the College of St. Catherine coordinating. The
colleges came together in an effort to create opportunities for students that pro-
mote democracy and public works. The students receive college credit through
their participation.
7. Indeed, despite the importance of social relations in democratic action,
school textbooks and curricula most often turn the history of collective efforts
into myths about individual heroes. See for example, Herb Kohl’s comparison of
the Rosa Parks story as told in children’s history textbooks with the history rec-
ognized by historians and by Parks herself (Kohl, 2005).
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PART IV
CONCLUSION
CHAPTER 17
REMAKING THE SOCIAL STUDIES CURRICULUM
E. Wayne Ross
Deciding What Ought To Be the Case

One of the earliest uses of the term “social studies” to refer to school sub-
jects is attributed to Thomas Jesse Jones in an article that appeared in the
Southern Workman in 1905 (Tabachnick, 1991). Jones expanded the article
into a book, Social Studies in the Hampton Curriculum, in which he expressed
his concern that young African-Americans and Native Americans “would
never be able to become integral members of the broader society unless
they learned to understand the society, the social forces that operated
within it, and ways to recognize and respond to social power” (Tabachnick,
1991, p. 725). Jones’ concern might be understood in different, even con-
tradictory, ways. While Jones himself was promoting an accomodationist
perspective—that African-Americans and Native Americans understand
and adapt to the asymmetrical power relations of the status quo—one
might invoke the same stated purpose for social studies aimed at recon-
structing society for political, economic, and social equality.
As I pointed out in chapter 1, the apparent consensus that citizen-
ship education is the primary purpose of social studies suffers the same
fate as Jones’ declaration. Although nearly all social studies educators
agree that the purpose of social studies is to prepare young people so
that they possess the knowledge, values, and skills needed for active par-
ticipation in society, the devil is in the details.
Dewey’s Democracy and Education (1916) opens with a discussion of
the way in which all societies use education as a means of social control
by which adults consciously shape the dispositions of children. He goes
on to argue that education as a social process and function has no defi-
nite meaning until we define the kind of society we have in mind. In
319
320 E. Wayne Ross
other words, there is no “scientifically objective” answer to the question

of the purposes of social studies education, because those purposes are
not things that can be discovered.
In Normative Discourse, Paul Taylor (1961) succinctly states a maxim
that has the potential to transform our approach to the social studies cur-
riculum: “We must decide what ought to be the case. We cannot discover
what ought to be the case by investigating what is the case.” We—educators
and citizens—must decide what ought to be the purpose of social studies.
That means asking what kind of society (and world) we want to live in.
And, in particular, in what sense of democracy do we want this to be a
democratic society? In order to construct meaning for social studies as cit-
izenship education, we must engage these questions not as merely abstract
or rhetorical, but in relation to our lived experiences and our professional
practice as educators.
Arguments have been made in this volume that goals of social stud-
ies education can be achieved through the study of history (Whelan), by
examining and responding to contemporary social problems (Marker) or
social roles (Crocco) or irrationalities such as racism and prejudice (Jen-
nings; Nelson & Pang; Rains), or by becoming; astute critics of society
(Vinson; Mathison). The question we face in defining the purposes of the
social studies curriculum though is not one of means alone, but of the
ends—whether social studies should promote a brand of citizenship that
is adaptive to the status quo and interests of the socially powerful or
whether it should promote citizenship aimed at transforming and recon-
structing society. This a question that has fueled debates since Jones first
employed the term “social studies” (see Barr, Barth, & Shermis, 1977;
Evans, 2004; Hertzberg, 1981; Hursh & Ross, 2000; Nelson, 1994; Shaver,
1977; Stanley & Nelson, 1994). The various approaches to the social stud-
ies curriculum discussed in the preceding chapters are not necessarily at
odds with one another. In fact, these authors, while perhaps not gathered
together in one accord, represent a more coherent view of social studies
than one might expect to find in the field in general—a view that favors
social studies as a tool in the reconstruction of society so that is it more
democratic and socially just.
The tapestry of topics, methods, and aims we know as social studies
education has always contained threads of social reconstructionism
(Hursh & Ross, 2000). Social reconstructionists such as George S.
Counts, Harold Rugg, and later Theodore Brameld argued that teachers
should work toward social change by teaching students to practice demo-
cratic principles, collective responsibility, and social and economic jus-
tice. John Dewey advocated the democratic reconstruction of society and
aspects of his philosophy inform the work of many contemporary social
studies educators as is obvious in the preceding chapters. The traditional
Remaking the Social Studies Curriculum 321
patterns of social studies teaching, curriculum, and teacher education,

however, reflect little of the social reconstructionist vision of the future,
and current practices in these areas are more often focused on imple-
menting curriculum standards and responding to high-stakes tests than
developing and working toward a vision of a socially just world (Ross,
2000; Ross, Gabbard, Kesson, Mathison, & Vinson, 2004).
Traditional Patterns of Social Studies Education,

Cultural Transmission, and Spectator Democracy
As discussed in chapter 1, it is within the context of tensions between
a relative emphasis on transmission of the cultural heritage of the domi-
nant society or the development of critical thought that social studies
education has had a mixed history—predominately conservative in its
purposes, but also at times incorporating progressive and even radical
purposes (Stanley & Nelson, 1994). Various schemes have been used by
researchers to make sense of the wide-ranging and conflicting purposes
offered for social studies. Researchers essentially agree that citizenship
transmission or conservative cultural continuity is the dominant ap-
proach practiced in schools.1
The dominant pattern of social studies instruction is characterized
by text-oriented, whole group, teacher-centered approaches aimed to-
ward the transmission of “factual” information. While many social stud-
ies educators, including contributors to this volume, have long advocated
instructional approaches that include active learning and higher order
thinking within a curriculum that emphasizes anti-racism, gender equity,
multiculturalism, social critique, etc., the dominant pattern has per-
sisted. Giroux (1978) has argued that social studies is characterized, in
part, by a pedagogy that produces students who are either unable or
afraid to think critically. Vinson as well as Nelson and Pang, in this vol-
ume, illustrate how the social studies curriculum can serve the contra-
dictory purposes of fostering oppression, racism, and prejudice or
liberation and cultural equality. The existing patterns of social studies
pedagogy and curriculum result from socioeconomic realities—many,
but not all of which, are beyond the direct control of teachers—that pro-
duce conditions such as classes with large numbers of students, a lack of
planning time for teachers, the culture of teacher isolation, and a strong
emphasis on standardized test scores as the only legitimate measure of
educational achievement. The traditional pattern of social studies in-
struction is, however, also sustained by the fact that it is easier for teach-
ers to plan and teach in accordance with a direct instruction approach
that focuses on information transmission, coverage of content and that
encourages teachers’ low expectations of students.
322 E. Wayne Ross
Reinforcing these tendencies is the conservative restoration of the

past two decades that has produced the “educational excellence” and
standards movements—to which both liberals and conservatives sub-
scribe—that have placed an emphasis on student recall and identifica-
tion of social studies facts, persons, and events, diverting attention away
from the ways in which the conditions of teaching and learning might be
transformed to encourage critical, active, and democratic citizenship
(see Mathison, Ross, & Vinson, chapter 4 and Ross, Gabbard, Kesson,
Mathison, & Vinson, 2004).
Leming (1992) argues that the majority of social studies teachers
agrees with the aims of the conservative approach to social studies edu-
cation as opposed to the progressive critical position of college and uni-
versity professors of education. Leming’s “two cultures” argument
represents “an academically-oriented cultural ideology that is substan-
tially at odds with the ideology and culture that pervades K–12 social
studies classrooms” (Whitson & Stanley, 1994, p. 27). Leming (1994) re-
jects critiques of the traditional pattern of social studies instruction (e.g.,
Cuban, 1991; McNeil, 1988; Marker, chapter 4 in this volume; Newmann,
1991) because, he argues, that pattern is the result of social studies teach-
ers who have thought carefully about their approach to social studies in-
struction. Leming also argues that this pattern of instruction is justified
because it is ideally suited to the context of social studies teaching: the
classroom. As for the content of the social studies curriculum, Leming
endorses “memorization of factual information.”
[Leming and the self-described social studies “contrarians” (Leming,
Ellington, & Porter-Magee, 2003), advocate the “transmission” of “facts”
and reject pluralism in favor of nationalism and monculturalism. Thus one
would assume Leming et al. reject much (if not all) of what is recom-
mended in this book about the social studies curriculum (see Marker, chap-
ter 4 in this volume; Ross, 2004; Ross & Marker, 2005a, 2005b)]
The difference between the two cultures, however, is not as great as
Leming might have us believe. An “ideology of neutrality” has been inter-
nalized in the consciousness of many social studies researchers/teacher ed-
ucators and classroom teachers. The linkages among political agendas,
classroom pedagogy as well as research on teaching have been blurred
(Popkewitz, 1978). Many educational research studies accept the objectives
of pedagogical programs and are organized to “explain” how the objectives
were reached. For example, research on “effective teaching” extols the val-
ues of direct instruction over teaching that promotes student-to-student
interaction, democratic pedagogy, and a learning milieu that values caring
and individual students’ self-esteem. The results of such research do not
question the assumed conception of student achievement—efficient mas-
tery of content as represented by test scores. Left unquestioned are such
issues as the criteria of content selection, the resultant mystification and

fragmentation of course content, unproved linkages between test scores
and national economic prosperity, and the ways in which the social condi-
tions of schooling might unequally distribute knowledge. As another ex-
ample, “critical thinking” in social studies most often focuses on procedural
problem solving (e.g., distinguishing “facts” from “opinions”) rather than
problem posing. As a result, “critical thinking” stops short of preparing stu-
dents to question, challenge, or transform society and serves to socialize stu-
dents into accepting and reproducing the status quo. A third example is the
logic of standards-based curriculum reform (see Mathison, Ross, & Vinson,
chapter 5 in this volume).
Another commonality between these two cultures is the conception
of democracy and democratic society that students are being prepared to
participate in. Throughout the twentieth century “progressive” intellec-
tuals and media figures (e.g., Walter Lippmann, George Kennan, Rein-
hold Niebuhr, and many Deweyites) have promulgated spectator
democracy—in which a specialized class of experts identify what our
common interests are and then think and plan accordingly (Chomsky,
1997b). The function of those outside the specialized class is to be “spec-
tators” rather than participants in action. This theory of democracy as-
serts that common interests elude the general public and can only be
understood and managed by an elite group. According to this view a
properly running democracy is one in which the large majority of the
public is protected from itself by the specialized class and its manage-
ment of the political, economic and ideological systems and in particular
by the manufacturing of consent—e.g., bringing about agreement on
the part of the public for things that they do not want.
Spectator democracy is promoted in social studies classes through
curriculum standards and the traditional instructional patterns described
above (which situate students and teachers outside the knowledge con-
struction process as passive recipients of prepackaged information) as
well as in the conceptions of democracy that dominate much of the con-
tent of social studies courses. For example, democracy is often equated
with elections and voting. The procedure of allowing individuals to ex-
press a choice on a proposal, resolution, bill, or candidate is perhaps the
most widely taught precept in the social studies curriculum. In this con-
ception of citizenship, individual agency is construed primarily as one’s
vote and voting procedures override all else with regard to what counts as
democracy. Democracy, in this case, is not defined by outcomes but by ap-
plication of procedures. Democracy based on proceduralism leaves little
room for individuals or groups to exercise direct political action, this is a
function left to a specialized class of people such as elected representa-
tives and experts who advise them. Yes, citizens can vote, lobby, exercise
324 E. Wayne Ross
free speech and assembly rights, but as far as governing is concerned, they
are primarily spectators.
Perhaps then, apparent consensus on purpose of social studies as cit-
izenship education is not as previously suggested, meaningless. And, al-
though there may be an “ideology gap” between social studies teachers
and teacher educators/researchers (although Vinson’s [1998] research
calls into question Leming’s “two cultures” thesis), traditional liberal-
democratic thinking and the spectator democracy it engenders has dom-
inated the practice of both groups.
Social Studies for Social Justice and Democracy

Defining the visions to be pursued in social studies is not something that
can (or should) be done once and for all, or separated from the experi-
ence of everyday life in a specific time and place. We can, however, iden-
tify pedagogical means that will put educators, students, and parents on
track to undertake education for social justice and democracy. Dewey’s
oft-quoted, seldom-enacted definition of reflective thought is a good
starting point: the “active, persistent, and careful consideration of any be-
lief or supposed form of knowledge in the light of the grounds that sup-
port it and the further conclusions to which it tends” (Dewey, 1933, p. 8).
Teaching from this standpoint means focusing on outcomes and
consequences that matter (e.g., everyday life circumstances as opposed
to standardized test scores) and interrogating abstract concepts such as
democracy for more meaningful understandings.
Democracy? Yes!
“Democracy” is most often taught, and understood, as a system of gov-
ernment providing a set of rules that allow individuals wide latitude to do
as they wish. The first principle of democracy, however, is providing
means for giving power to the people, not to an individual or to a re-
stricted class of people. “Democracy,” Dewey said, is “a mode of associ-
ated living, of conjoint communicated experience” (Dewey, 1916, p. 87).
In this conception, democratic life involves paying attention to the mul-
tiple implications of our actions on others (Boisvert, 1998). In fact, the
primary responsibility of democratic citizens is concern with the devel-
opment of shared interests that lead to sensitivity about repercussions of
their actions on others. Dewey characterized democracy as a force that
breaks down the barriers that separate people and creates community:
The extension in space of the number of individuals who participate in

an interest so that each had to refer his own action to that of others,
and to consider the action of others to give point and direction to his
own, is equivalent to the breaking down of those barriers of class, race,
and national territory which kept men [sic] from perceiving the full im-
port of their activity. (Dewey, 1916, p. 87)
In this light, it is nearly impossible to think about or teach democracy

without placing the pursuit of social justice and a critical examination
of existing social, economic, and political inequalities at the center of
the endeavor.
Boisvert (1998) distills from Dewey’s work three criteria for deter-
mining the degree to which a society (e.g., individuals in association) is
moving in the direction of the democratic ideal:
• participation in formulating policy is widespread

• groups that make up society encourage and actively elicit the
development of latent powers/talents in their members
• relations among social groups are multiple and supple
The more porous the boundaries of social groups, the more they wel-
come participation from all individuals, and as the varied groupings
enjoy multiple and flexible relations, society moves closer to fulfilling the
democratic ideal.
How does contemporary society (as well as stakeholders in the edu-
cation community) measure up to the guiding ideals of the above crite-
ria? Achieving perfection in democracy and education will, of course,
remain elusive, but without examining our circumstances in light of
guiding ideals we could never engage in the work to eliminate the “re-
strictive and disturbing elements” that prevent the growth of democratic
life (Dewey, 1927; Boisvert, 1998).
A close examination of theories of knowledge and conceptions of de-
mocracy that operate widely in social studies education can illuminate el-
ements of curriculum and teaching that prevent growth of democracy
and, obscure the political and ideological consequences of teaching and
curriculum (see Nelson & Pang, chapter 6 in this volume; Ross, 2000;
Ross, Gabbard, Kesson, Mathison, & Vinson, 2004; Vinson, chapter 3 in
this volume). These consequences include conceptions of the learner as
passive; democratic citizenship as a spectator project; and ultimately the
maintenance of status quo inequalities in society. Often times social stud-
ies educators eschew openly political or ideological agendas for teaching
and schooling as inappropriate or “unprofessional;” however the ques-
tion is not whether to encourage particular social visions in the class-
room, but rather what kind of social visions will be taught.
326 E. Wayne Ross
. . . But What Kind of Democracy?

From a Deweyan perspective, democracy is not merely a form of govern-
ment nor is it an end in itself; it is the means by which people discover,
extend, and manifest human nature and human rights. For Dewey, de-
mocracy has three roots: (a) free individual existence; (b) solidarity with
others; and (c) choice of work and other forms of participation in soci-
ety. The aim of a democratic society is the production of free human
beings associated with one another on terms of equality.
Dewey’s conception of democracy contrasts sharply with the prevail-
ing political economic paradigm: neoliberalism. While the term neolib-
eralism is largely unused by the public in the United States, it references
something everyone is familiar with—policies and processes “whereby a
relative handful of private interests are permitted to control as much as
possible of social life in order to maximize their personal profit” (Mc-
Chesney, 1998, p. 7). Neoliberalism is embraced by parties across the
political spectrum, from right to left, in that the interests of wealthy in-
vestors and large corporations define social and economic policy. The
free market, private enterprise, consumer choice, entrepreneurial initia-
tive, deleterious effects of government regulation, etc., are the tenets of a
neoliberalism. Indeed, the corporate-controlled media spin would have
the public believe that the economic consequences of neoliberal eco-
nomic policy, which serves the interests of the wealthy elite, is good for
everyone (Ross & Gibson, 2006).
In fact, neoliberal economic policies have created massive social and
economic inequalities among individuals and nations. For example, the
same combination of growing personal debt and widening wealth gap
that preceded the Great Depression underlies today’s economy and is fu-
eled by declines in wages, savings rates, and the number of workers cov-
ered by private pension plans. Presently, the top 1% of households in the
U.S. owns 40% of the nation’s wealth (Collins, 1999). The wealth gap is
particularly large for African-Americans and Latinos.2 In spite of a
“strong economy” the number of Americans who do not have health in-
surance increased from 1998 to 1999 by nearly 1 million to a total of 44.3
million (Pear, 1999). The U.S. has the highest level of child poverty in
the industrial world (Chomsky, 1999).
On the global scene, neoliberal economic policies have reproduced
these inequalities among nations. These policies, created by the U.S. gov-
ernment and international financial institutions, have decimated the
economies of countries like Brazil and Mexico, while local elites and
transnational corporations reap huge profits (Petras & Veltmeyer, 1999).3
Neoliberalism also works as a political system, one in which there is
formal democracy, but the citizens remain spectators, diverted from any
meaningful participation in decision making. McChesney (1998) describes

neoliberal democracy in a nutshell: “trivial debate over minor issues by par-
ties that basically pursue the same pro-business policies regardless of for-
mal differences and campaign debate. Democracy is permissible as long as
the control of business is off-limits to popular deliberation or change, i.e.,
so long as it isn’t democracy” (p. 9). A depoliticized and apathetic citi-
zenry, such as we have in the U.S. today, is a key outcome of neoliberalism;
one that is arguably abetted by social studies education.
It is important to remember, especially as social studies educators, that
neoliberalism is not new. It is merely the current version of the wealthy
few’s attempt to restrict the rights and powers of the many. Although de-
mocracy and capitalism are popularly understood (and often taught) as
birds of a feather, the conflict between protecting private wealth and cre-
ating a democratic society is conspicuous throughout U.S. history.
The framers of the U.S. Constitution were keenly aware of the
“threat” of democracy. According to James Madison, the primary re-
sponsibility of government was “to protect the minority of the opulent
against the majority.” Madison believed the threat to democracy was
likely to increase over time as there was an increase in “the proportion of
those who will labor under all the hardships of life and secretly sigh for a
more equal distribution of its blessing” (Madison quoted in Chomsky,
1999, p. 47).
In crafting a system giving primacy to property over people, Madison
and the framers were guarding against the increased influence of the
unpropertied masses.
[The unpropertied] might gain influence, Madison feared. He was con-

cerned by the “symptoms of a leveling spirit” that had already appeared,
and warned “of the future danger” if the right to vote would place
“power over property in the hands without a share in it.” Those “with-
out property, or the hope of acquiring it, cannot be expected to sympa-
thize sufficiently with its rights,” Madison explained. His solution was to
keep political power in the hands of those who “come from and repre-
sent the wealth of the nation,” the .more capable set of men,” with the
general public fragmented and disorganized. (Chomsky, 1999, p. 48)
The Federalists expected that the public would remain compliant and
deferential to the politically active elite—and for the most part that has
been true throughout U.S. history. Despite the Federalists’ electoral de-
feat, their conception of democracy prevailed, though in a different
form as industrial capitalism emerged. This view was most succinctly ex-
pressed by John Jay, president of the Continental Congress and first
Chief Justice of the U.S. Supreme Court, who said “the people who own
328 E. Wayne Ross
the country ought to govern it.” Jay’s maxim is the principle upon which
the U.S. was founded and is one of the roots of neoliberalism.
So-called democratic politicians and theoreticians have railed
against a truly participatory democracy, which engages the public in con-
trolling its own affairs, for more than two hundred years. For example,
Alexander Hamilton warned of the “great beast” that must be tamed. In
the twentieth century, Walter Lippman warned of the “bewildered herd”
that would trample itself without external control, and in the Encyclopedia
of the Social Sciences the eminent political scientist Harold Lasswell warned
elites of the “ignorance and stupidity of the masses” and called for them
not to succumb to the “democratic dogmatisms about men [sic] being
the best judges of their own interests.” These perspectives have nurtured
neoliberal spectator democracy, which deters or prohibits the public
from managing its own affairs and resolutely controls the means of in-
formation. At first this may seem an odd conception of democracy, but
it is the prevailing conception of liberal-democratic thought—and one
that has been fostered by traditional approaches to social studies educa-
tion and the current curriculum standards movement (e.g., Mathison,
Ross, & Vinson, chapter 5 in this volume; Ross & Gibson, 2006). In spec-
tator democracy a specialized class of experts identify what our common
interests are and think and plan accordingly. The function of the rest of
us is to be “spectators” rather than participants in action (for example,
casting votes in elections or implementing educational reforms that are
conceived by people who know little or nothing about our community,
our desires or our interests).
While the Madisonian principle that the government should provide
special protections for the rights of property owners is central to U.S. de-
mocracy, there is also a critique of inequality—in a tradition of thought
that includes Thomas Jefferson, Dewey, and many others—which argues
that the root of human nature is the need for free creative work under
one’s control.
For example, Thomas Jefferson distinguished between the aristocrats
“who fear and distrust the people and wish to draw all powers from them
into the hands of the higher classes” (e.g., Hamilton, Lippman, and Lass-
well) and democrats, who “identify with the people, have confidence in
them, cherish and consider them as the most honest and safe . . . depository
of the public interest” (Lipscom & Ellery, 1903, p. 96).
Dewey also warned of the anti-democratic effects of the concentra-
tion of private power in absolutist institutions such as corporations. He
was clear that as long as there was no democratic control of the work-
place and economic systems that democracy would be limited, stunted.
Dewey emphasized that democracy has little content when big business
rules the life of the country through its control of “the means of produc-
tion, exchange, publicity, transportation and communication, reinforced

by command of the press, press agents and other means of publicity and
propaganda.” “Politics,” Dewey said, “is the shadow cast on society by big
business, the attenuation of the shadow will not change the substance.” A
free and democratic society, according to Dewey, is one where workers
are “masters of their own industrial fate.”4
The above analysis leads to the point where, as social studies educa-
tors, we must confront the fact that it is impossible to simultaneously
champion participatory democracy and any system that supports a class-
divided society, where public decision making is limited to the most
narrow and controlled possibilities. The challenge for social studies edu-
cators (and others) who express a commitment to democracy is to be
self-critical of the values and interests represented in their work. As Mc-
Chesney (1998) points out, it remains unclear how to establish a viable,
free, and humane post-capitalist order and the very notion has a utopian
air about it. But, organized political activism can make the world more
humane and it is what’s responsible for the degree of democracy we do
have today (as demonstrated in struggles for women’s rights, trade
unions, civil rights, etc.). People make both history and the future.
Whether or not the savage inequalities of neoliberalism, which define
current social and national relations, will be overcome depends on how
people organize, respond, and teach social studies in schools.
Conclusion
The principal obstacle to achieving education for democracy, according
to Dewey, was the powerful alliance of class privilege with philosophies of
education that sharply divided mind and body, theory and practice, cul-
ture and utility (Westbrook, 1991). In Dewey’s day, and still today, pre-
vailing educational practice is the actualization of the philosophies of
profoundly antidemocratic thinkers. The fact that educational policy
makers are now calling for a “unified” curriculum, with a single set of stan-
dards for all students is merely a superficial adaptation of the economic
and educational systems Dewey critiqued more than eighty years ago.
Dewey’s concern was with the ideas implied by a democratic society and
the application of those ideas to education. “The price that democratic so-
cieties will have to pay for their continuing health,” Dewey argued, “is the
elimination of oligarchy—the most exclusive and dangerous of all—that
attempts to monopolize the benefits of intelligence and the best methods
for the profit of a few privileged ones (1913, p. 127).
The best way to achieve democracy is to initiate children in a form of
social life characteristic of democracy: a community of full participation.
The aim of education in general and social studies in particular should
330 E. Wayne Ross
not be merely preparation for living in a democracy. Rather our aim

should be to create a social studies curriculum that fosters broad partici-
pation in a democratic community of inquirers, a community reflective
of the Whole Schooling framework that in the course of exploring the of
human enterprise across space and time:
• empowers citizens in a democracy;

• includes all;
• engages its members in active learning in meaningful, real-world
activities and that accommodates learners with diverse needs,
interests, and abilities;
• intentionally builds learning support strategies; and
• fosters partnering and builds real collaboration within the school
and with families and the community. (Gibson & Peterson, 2001)
There is no single means to this end and the contributors to this vol-
ume have provided a variety of pathways for those who want to take up
the challenge of building a more democratic and socially just society.
Notes
1. This section and portions of the next are largely drawn from: Ross,
E. W. (1998). Social studies education and the pursuit of social justice. Theory
and Research in Social Education, 26(4), 457–460.
2. Collins (1999) reports that in 1995, the median black household had a
net worth of $7,400 (compared to $61,000 for whites). The median net worth ex-
cluding home equity was $200 for blacks (compared to $18,000 for whites). One
in three black households had zero or negative wealth. Latino households were
worse off, with a median net worth of $5,000 including home equity and zero
otherwise. Half the Latino households in the U.S. have more debt than assets.
3. For an overview and analysis of the impact of neoliberal economic poli-
cies on national, regional, and global economies see: Magdoff, H., Wood,
E. M., & McNally, D. (1999). “Capitalism at the End of the Millennium:
A Global Survey” [Special issue]. Monthly Review, 51(3).
4. Chomsky comments in Class Warfare (1997) that “when you read John
Dewey today, or Thomas Jefferson, their work sounds like that of some crazed Marx-
ist lunatic. But that just shows how much intellectual life has deteriorated” (p. 124).
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CONTRIBUTORS
Editor
E. WAYNE ROSS is Professor in the Department of Curriculum Studies
at the University of British Columbia. He is interested in the influence of
social and institutional contexts on teachers’ practices as well as the role
of curriculum and teaching in building a democratic society in the face
of anti-democratic impulses of greed, individualism, and intolerance. A
former day-care worker and secondary social studies teacher in North
Carolina and Georgia, Ross is also co-founder of The Rouge Forum
(www.rougeforum.org), a group of educators, students, and parents
seeking a democratic society. He is co-editor of the journals Workplace: A
Journal for Academic Labor (www.workplace-gsc.com) and Cultural Logic
(www.eserver.org/clogic) and the former editor of Theory and Research in
Social Education. He is the author or editor of numerous books including:
Defending Public Schools (Vols. 1–4); Neoliberalism and Educational Reform
(with Rich Gibson); Race, Ethnicity and Education (Vols. 1–4) (with Valerie
Ooka Pang); Image and Education (with Kevin D. Vinson); and Democratic
Social Education: Social Studies for Social Change (with David Hursh). You
can find him on the web at: weblogs.elearning.ubc.ca/ross
Contributors
MARGARET SMITH CROCCO is Professor of Social Studies and Educa-
tion at Teachers College, Columbia University. She received her bache-
lor’s degree from Georgetown University in philosophy and master’s and
doctoral degrees from the University of Pennsylvania in American Civiliza-
tion. She taught American Studies at the University of Maryland and Amer-
ican History and Women’s History at Drew, Montclair State, and William
Paterson Universities, and within the University of Texas system of higher
education. For eight years, she worked as a social studies teacher and
administrator in New Jersey. Her research interests are currently focused
on the history of the social studies and diversity issues, especially as they
333
334 Contributors
relate to race, gender, and sexuality. She is co-editor of a number of books

including: Social Education in the Twentieth Century (Peter Lang), Bending the
Future to Their Will: Civic Women, Social Education and Democracy (Rowman
and Littlefield), and most recently Social Studies and the Press: Keeping the
Beast at Bay (Information Age).
LINDA FARR DARLING is an Associate Professor in the Department of

Curriculum Studies at the University of British Columbia where she
teaches social studies and philosophy of education courses to aspiring el-
ementary teachers. She also works with graduate students who are study-
ing critical thinking, moral development in young children, and the
ethical dimensions of teaching and learning. Her own research reflects
similar interests. In the past few years she has studied approaches to early
childhood education that explicitly attend to the growth of children’s
moral and social understandings, such as the Reggio Emilia Schools of
north-central Italy. Recently, Linda’s inquiries into teaching as a moral
enterprise have taken her to India to work with primary and pre-primary
teachers in a large urban school. In a cultural context that she is just
learning about, she has found that questions about the foundations of
ethical practice as well as the moral development of young children are
highlighted in fascinating and important ways. Closer to home, Linda
is on the advisory board, contributing curriculum ideas for the newly
established Dalai Lama Centre for Peace and Education in Vancouver.
KRISTI FRAGNOLI is an Assistant Professor in the School of Education at

the College of St. Rose. Dr. Fragnoli has been involved in multiple forms
of research and educational community dialogue. She has participated as
a college representative in the New York State Archives Teacher Focus
Group, consisting of 22 educational representatives across the state that
discussed the direction, content, and format of the educational programs
and publications of the State Archives. She was the lead educator as part of
a J. P. Morgan Chase Visual Learning Grant, a project aimed at identifying
visual materials in the holdings of the state archives that support curricu-
lum/teacher and student needs in preK–Grade 6 and to expand Web ac-
cess to state archives’ holdings. Dr. Fragnoli has also taught at State
University of New York at Cortland and Syracuse University. She com-
pleted her doctorate at State University of New York at Binghamton and
her dissertation research examined New York State mandated assessments.
KEVIN JENNINGS is the founder and executive director of GLSEN, the

Gay, Lesbian and Straight Education Network. Mr. Jennings spent
a decade teaching high school history. In 1990, he founded GLSEN,
bringing together teachers, parents, students, and community members
Contributors 335
to address anti-LGBT bias in K–12 schools. As the head of a then all-

volunteer group in Boston, Mr. Jennings led GLSEN in its successful ef-
fort to make Massachusetts the first state in the nation to outlaw discrim-
ination on the basis of sexual orientation against public school students
and in 1993 to establish a statewide program called “Safe Schools for Gay
and Lesbian Students.” He became GLSEN’s first executive director in
1995, relocated its national headquarters to New York, and has led its
rapid growth from an all-volunteer group to its status today as a national
education and civil rights organization with a grassroots presence in all
fifty states. A winner of the Lambda Literary Award, Mr. Jennings is the
author of five books, including Becoming Visible: A Reader in Gay and Les-
bian History for High School and College Students. He also co-wrote and co-
produced the historical documentary Out of the Past, which won the 1998
Sundance Film Festival Audience Award for Best Documentary. Mr. Jen-
nings holds an A.B. magna cum laude in history from Harvard, an MA
from Columbia, and an MBA from New York University.
JOSEPH KAHNE is the Kathryn P. Hannam Professor of American Studies

and Professor of Education at Mills College. He is also Director of the Doc-
toral Program in Educational Leadership at Mills College and Director of
Research for the Institute for Civic Leadership. His work focuses on urban
school change and on the democratic purposes of education. He is cur-
rently studying the civic and academic outcomes of high school reform in
Chicago (with special emphasis on the new small schools). He is also work-
ing with the Constitutional Rights Foundation to create a civic index that as-
sesses California high school students’ civic and political commitments and
the factors that shaped them. He can be reached at jkahne@mills.edu.
CURRY MALOTT is Assistant Professor of childhood education at

Brooklyn College, CUNY, and has taught sociology and social studies
pedagogy courses at New Mexico State University and multicultural edu-
cation at Oregon State University. He received his PhD in curriculum
and instruction from New Mexico State University. Dr. Malott also con-
tinues to participate in local skateboarding and music scenes, not only
through skateboarding and playing music, but by recording musical
artists who skate. As a result, and with the help of a few friends, Dr. Mal-
ott has started and is running Punk Army Skateboards and Records. He
is co-author of Punk Rockers’ Revolution: A Pedagogy of Race, Class, and Gen-
der (Peter Lang).
PERRY M. MARKER is Professor of Social Studies Education and Chair

of the Department of Curriculum Studies and Secondary Education
at Sonoma State University. He has made presentations at international,
336 Contributors
national, and state education conferences, and has written numerous arti-
cles related to social studies education and curriculum studies that have
appeared journals such as Teachers College Record, Teacher Education Quar-
terly, The Social Studies and Theory and Research in Social Education. Most re-
cently, he has contributed two chapters to the Defending Public Schools series
edited by E. Wayne Ross, Kevin Vinson, and Katharine Kesson. His current
research interests are in the application of future studies to social studies
curriculum, and the standards movement in education. He resides in
Bodega Bay, California, with his wife Martha Rapp Ruddell.
SANDRA MATHISON is Professor and Head of the Department of Ed-

ucational and Counseling Psychology and Special Education, University
of British Columbia, Vancouver. Her research is in educational evalua-
tion and her work has focused especially on the potential and limits of
evaluation to support democratic ideals and promote justice. She is cur-
rently doing research on the effects of state-mandated testing on teach-
ing and learning in elementary and middle schools in upstate New York,
a study funded by a five-year grant from the National Science Founda-
tion. She is editor of the Encyclopedia of Evaluation (Sage) and co-editor
of Defending Public Schools: The Nature and Limits of Standards-Based Reform
and Assessment (Praeger).
MERRY M. MERRYFIELD is Professor in Social Studies and Global Ed-

ucation at the Ohio State University. Her work examines teacher deci-
sion making, school/university collaboration, and teacher education in
global education and cross-cultural experiential learning.
JACK L. NELSON is professor emeritus after 30 years on the faculty at

Rutgers University, where he held the title of Professor II (equivalent of
Distinguished Professor). Prior to Rutgers, he held faculty appointments
at CSU, Los Angeles, and SUNY at Buffalo; he also served as Dean of Ed-
ucation at San Jose State University. He has held visiting scholar positions
at the University of California, Berkeley, Stanford University, the Univer-
sity of Colorado, and the University of Washington in the U.S., as well as
at Cambridge University, England, and Curtin University, Edith Cowan
University, and the University of Sydney in Australia. His publications in-
clude 16 books and more than 150 monographs, chapters, articles, and
reviews. His most recent book is Critical Issues in Education, 5th edition
(McGraw-Hill). His writings also appear in such journals as Theory and Re-
search in Social Education, Academe, Social Education, Cambridge Journal of Ed-
ucation, Intellect, The Urban Review, and Educational Leadership. Much of his
scholarly work is devoted to an examination of academic freedom, cen-
sorship, and related issues involving freedom in education. He served as
Contributors 337
founding editor of Social Science Record and as editor of Theory and Research
in Social Education; he is one of the original members of the national
panel of judges for Project Censored, identifying the ten most censored
news stories each year.
VALERIE OOKA PANG is Professor in the School of Teacher Education

at San Diego State University. Her second edition of Multicultural Educa-
tion: A Caring-centered, Reflective Approach presents theories, issues, and
curriculum that are aimed at delivering educational equity through the
use of culture. She has published in a variety of journals including Har-
vard Educational Review, The Kappan, Journal of Teacher Education, Action in
Teacher Education, Social Education, Theory and Research in Social Education,
and Multicultural Education. Pang has been a consultant for organizations
such as Sesame Street, Fox Children’s Network, Family Communications
(producers of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood), and ScottForesman. Pang was
a senior fellow for the Annenberg Institute for School Reform at Brown
University and honored by organizations such as the American Educa-
tional Research Association’s Standing Committee on the Role and Sta-
tus of Minorities in Education, National Association for Multicultural
Education, and the University of Washington’s College of Education.
She is co-editor (with E. Wayne Ross) of Race, Ethnicity, and Education,
Volumes 1–4 (Praeger).
MARC PRUYN earned his PhD in curriculum at UCLA, and now works
at New México State University as Associate Professor of Social Studies
Education and as the Director of Elementary Education. His research
interests include exploring the connections among education for social
justice, multiculturalism, critical pedagogy and theory, and the social
studies in the Chihuahuan Borderlands and beyond. His areas of exper-
tise include curriculum theory, educational foundations, and research
methodologies. His books include Teaching Peter McLaren: Paths of Dissent
(Peter Lang), Social Justice in These Times (Information Age), and Dis-
course Wars in Gotham-West: A Latino Immigrant Urban Tale of Resistance and
Agency (Westview).
FRANCES V. RAINS, PhD (Choctaw/Cherokee & Japanese) is a faculty

member in Native American and World Indigenous Peoples Studies at
Evergreen State College. She enjoys the interdisciplinary, integrated teach-
ing opportunities that Evergreen promotes. Her research interests include
critical race theory, indigenous knowledge, social justice, white
privilege/racism, and American Indian history and education issues. A re-
cent book chapter she wrote focuses on the issues that can arise for indige-
nous scholars in a predominantly white research institution. Entitled
338 Contributors
“Making Intellectual Space: Self Determination and Indigenous Research,”

it appears in From Center to Margins: The Importance of Self Definition in Research
(State University Press of New York Press), edited by Diane Pollard and
Olga Welch. Her chapter on white privilege and Indian representation, en-
titled, “To Greet the Dawn with Open Eyes: American Indians, White Privi-
lege and the Power of Residual Guilt in the Social Studies” was published in
G. Ladson-Billings’ Critical Race Theory Perspectives on the Social Studies: The Pro-
fession, Policies, and the Curriculum (Information Age Publishing).
BINAYA SUBEDI was born in Katmandu, Nepal, and educated in both

Nepal and the U.S. He is currently Assistant Professor in social studies
and global education at The Ohio State University, Newark. His research
looks at intersections of education with race, class, gender, and national-
ity in the U.S. and world contexts.
BRENDA TROFANENKO is Assistant Professor of Education in the De-

partment of Curriculum and Instruction at the University of Illinois at
Urbana Champaign. Her research interests include examining how iden-
tities are formed within the public sphere, specifically with respect to
questions of how history has defined particular racialized identities. She
also considers how cultural heritage institutions are working with digital
technologies. She is a recent recipient of a Faculty Fellowship with the
National Center for Supercomputing Applications (NCSA) at the Uni-
versity of Illinois in which she examined student knowledge translation
utilizing cultural heritage resources.
KEVIN D. VINSON is Associate Professor of Teaching and Teacher Ed-

ucation at the University of Arizona. He received his PhD in Curriculum
and Instruction, with a specialization in Social Studies Education, from
the University of Maryland in 1996. Prior to his experiences as a college
teacher, he taught secondary social studies in the Baltimore County
(Maryland) Public School System. His scholarship focuses on the philo-
sophical and theoretical contexts of social studies, especially with respect
to questions of power, image, culture, standardization, diversity, and so-
cial justice, as well as on the meaning and relevance of the philosophies
of Michel Foucault and Guy Debord vis-à-vis the potential social and ped-
agogical relationships among surveillance, spectacle, and disciplinarity.
He has published articles in a number of academic journals including
Theory and Research in Social Education, The Social Studies, and Social Educa-
tion. He is co-author of Image and Education: Teaching in the Face of the New
Disciplinarity (Peter Lang Press) and co-editor of Defending Public Schools:
Curriculum and the Challenge of Change in the 21st Century (Praeger).
Contributors 339
WALTER WERNER is Associate Professor of Curriculum Studies at the

University of British Columbia. In the past he taught middle and high
school, and has worked across the curriculum with teachers, unions, gov-
ernment ministries, and volunteer organizations. His longterm research
interests focus on avenues for encouraging and sustaining productive cur-
riculum change. A current project brings various aspects of visual culture
into classrooms. Some recent work in visual culture is included in edited
books, as well as journals such as Canadian Social Studies, International Jour-
nal of Social Education, and Theory and Research in Social Education.
JOEL WESTHEIMER is University Research Chair in Democracy and

Education and Professor of Education at the University of Ottawa where
he founded and co-directs Democratic Dialogue, a research collaboration
for inquiry into democracy, education, and society (www.democratic
dialogue.com). He is also currently John Glenn Service Learning Scholar for
Social Justice at the John Glenn Institute for Public Service and Public Pol-
icy. A former New York City public schools teacher and musician, West-
heimer teaches and writes on democracy, social justice, youth activism,
service learning, and community. He is author of the book Among School-
teachers (Teachers College Press) and publishes widely in newspapers,
magazines, and education journals. He is writing a new book on patrio-
tism, democracy, and education in North America. Dr. Westheimer lec-
tures nationally and internationally on democracy and education, service
learning, and academic freedom. He addresses radio and television audi-
ences on shows such as Good Morning America, More to Life, NBC TV News,
and CBC Radio. He lives with his wife, eight-year-old daughter, and three-
year-old son in Ottawa, Ontario, where, in winter, he ice-skates to and
from work. He can be reached at joelw@uottawa.ca.
MICHAEL WHELAN is Associate Professor and Chair of the History

Department at Montclair State University. He has previously held acade-
mic positions at Teachers College, Columbia University and the State Uni-
versity of New York at New Paltz, serving as Social Studies Program
Coordinator at the former and Chair of the Department of Secondary
Education at the latter. He has long been interested in the history of his-
tory and social studies education and in the role, purposes, and instruc-
tional practices of history education in a more comprehensive social
studies curriculum. He has written extensively about both of these general
issues and has also regularly taught courses about issues related to both.
SUBJECT INDEX
American Indians: 9, 116, 122, 129, civic competence, 60; and civil
137–154; experiences of disobedience, 65; and civic
139–154; treaties with U. S. dispositions, 63; conceptions of,
government, 139–140 59–67; and cultural studies,
assessment: 197–213; and account- 69–71; as cultural transmission,
ability, 197; authentic, 10, 198, 321; and diversity, 179; and
204–207; definition of, 200; ethical commitments and beliefs,
dilemmas in, 197–198, 212; 266–267; features of successful
distinction between authentic programs, 305–312; in a global
and performance assessment, age, 283–292; moving beyond
205–206; as distinguished from service-associate citizenship,
tests and measurement, 198–200; 302–304; and oppression, 8,
formative, 201–202; in historical 51–73; preparing students to be
context, 202–206; as instruction, effective democratic citizens,
201, 205; and learning, 200–202; 297–314; without politics,
performance assessment, 197, 300–302
204–213; role of students in, civic competence: 60–63; skills of,
200–202; summative, 201–202; 92–93
See also testing civic education
See citizenship education
capitalism: 94, 157–168 passim; and class (social): 51; Marx’s dialectical
democracy, 327–329; students’ theory of, 157–158; 233
understanding of, 160–161 See also working class
citizens: preparing democratic, classrooms: as laboratories, 5;
297–214 democratic practices in, 88
citizenship: civic engagement as social consciousness: double, 285–286, 290;
endeavor, 310–312; conflicting perspective, 285–286, 290
conceptions, 78; democratic, 161, controversial issues: teaching,
300–302; ethical grounds of, 306–308
268–269; spectator, 166 critical pedagogy, 9, 51
citizenship education: 2: as aim of critical race theory, 9, 51
social studies education, 20–23; cultural heritage institutions: 11;
alternative conceptions, 67–73; 242–251 passim
as anti-oppressive, 67–72; that cultural studies: and citizenship
emphasizes character, 301–302; education, 67, 69–71
353
354 Subject Index
curriculum: alignment, 25; centraliza- programs that teach, 302–304;

tion of, 23–32; commonplaces of, roots of, 326; and social justice,
172; corporate-influenced, 77; 324–329; as spectatorship,
definitions of, 1, 23; as discipli- 321–324; teaching of, 12,
nary subject-matter, 5; develop- 297–312; types of, 324–325
ment, 6; enacted 4, 23, 30; documents: primary source, 243–245,
formal, 4, 23, 30; planning, 245–251 passim; effect of digital
91–93; resistance to centraliza- technology on, 245–247
tion, 26; teacher-proof, 27;
test-driven, 25; educational management organiza-
curriculum and instruction: distinction tions (EMOs), 112
between, 3–7; means-ends ethical commitments and beliefs
distinction, 29–32; rethinking of, See moral deliberation
5–7 educational problems: as practical
curriculum development: centralized problems, 5–6
versus grassroots, 23–32; and equality: as an American principle,
division of labor, 3–4; managerial 121–123
approach, 28; teachers’ role in, equity: gender, 171–189
29–32
curriculum planning: question to feminist theory, 51; 173–175,
guide, 91–93 181–182
curriculum theorizing: future-oriented, future, the: 83–86; and social studies
91–93 77–95; developing a future-
curriculum standards: 2, 28–29; oriented perspective, 88–91
99–112; NCSS Curriculum
Standards for Social Studies, gender: disparities between, 181–182;
209–212; National History and ethnocentricism, 183–184;
Standards, 103–106; liberal- framing the problem of,
conservative consensus on, 173–174, 185–188; and global-
101–103; organized resistance ization, 178–188 passim; as
to, 108–112; and school reform, represented in social education,
99–108; for social studies, 176–181; and social education,
103–107; for technology in social 171–189; and social studies
studies, 244 curriculum, 9, 19; women’s
See also standards-based educational educational gains, 171–172
reform; CIVITAS, Expectations of geography: in the curriculum 126–127
Excellence, National Standards global education: 11; 179–181;
for Civics and Government 283–292; and sources of a global
perspective, 284–285; strategies
democracy: and capitalism, 327–329; for teaching global perspective,
challenge of teaching, 312–313; 284–292
and citizenship education, 67–69; globalization, 178, 184–185
in classrooms, 88; criteria for
determining ideal of, 325; and high-stakes testing
neoliberalism, 326–329; obstacles See testing
to education for, 329–330; historical knowledge: nature of, 38–41
Subject Index 355
historical understanding: through new Latin grammar schools of New

information technology, 243–245 England, 18
history: and constructivist teaching, learning: and assessment, 200–202;
37–49; and digital objects, conception of, 5–7; digital tech-
10–11; inclusive, 255–264; as nologies, 241–251 passim; and
interdisciplinary study, 40–41; everyday experience as target of
nationalistic, 2; effective instruc- inquiry, 6
tion of, 43; in schools, 2; versus lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender
social studies debate, 7 issues (LGBT): absence in class-
history-centered social studies: and rooms, 255–256; in the social
chronology, 47; critique of, studies curriculum 255–264; con-
42–43; of early-twentieth-century, sequences of invisibility in class-
79; and enlightened citizenship, rooms and textbooks, 256–257;
47; National Center for History strategies for inclusion in social
in Schools, 104–105; National studies curriculum, 258–261;
History Standards, 103–106; teaching basic skills using LGBT-
implementing, 41–48; organiza- related materials, 261–263
tion of, 46–47; and relationship literacy: multiliteracies, 86–87; new
between past and present, 39–41; literacies, 94
and study of non-traditional literature: use and censorship in the
opics, 45 curriculum, 125–126
See also social studies curriculum
heterosexism: 11 Manifest Destiny, 146, 150
See also sexuality Marxism: 51, 157–168; continuing
HIV/AIDS, 177, 188, 311 relevance of, 157–159
human rights, 177, 186 museums
homophobia: 11, 53, 167 See cultural heritage institutions
See also sexuality moral deliberation: and caring per-
spective, 272–273; and children,
ideology: and social studies education, 11, 265–280; classroom examples
231–330 of, 270–276; and conflicting
indoctrination: and moral deliberation, moral traditions, 278–279; and
268–269 everyday experiences of children,
immigrants, 116, 178 275–276; and indoctrination,
inquiry method, 27 268–269, 277–278; and justice
See also teaching framework for decision-making,
internment of Japanese citizens, 116 272; language of rights and
caring; 274; private and public
justice: as an American principle, morality, 276–277;
121–123 moral education: and classroom con-
cerns, 276–279
knowledge: contrapunal, 286–290 See also moral deliberation
multiculturalism: 9, 22, 176: and
language of teaching and curriculum: decolonizing the mind, 287–292
images and metaphors, 2–4; See also Critical Multicultural
means and ends, 3–4 Social Studies; global education
356 Subject Index
Native Americans See also homophobia; lesbian, gay,

See American Indian bisexual, and transgender issues
neoliberalism: 326–329; effect of (LGBT)
economic policies, 326–327; as schools: culture of, 3; as democratic, 69
a political system, 326–327 school reform: and curriculum stan-
dards, 99–108
object-based inquiry, 207–208 school violence, 59
oppression: five faces of, 54–59; and social education
classrooms, 56–57 See social studies, social studies cur-
orientalism: 288–289 riculum
social issues approach, 2, 22, 37–38,
parent organizations, 112 42–43
patriarchy: defined, 172–173; effects social justice: and ethical commit-
of 186 ments and beliefs, 266–267; and
patriotism, 129 roots of social studies curriculum,
pedagogy 19–20; and revolutionary peda-
See teaching gogies, 159–161; and social stud-
portraiture: empathetic readings of, ies, 324–329
221–224; and ideology, 227–228, social reconstructionism: 2, 320–330
231–232; interpreting authors, passim
224–229; interpreting subjects of, social studies: as contested terrain, 2,
219–221; interpreting viewers of, 19, 37–38, 41–43, 48, 78,
229–233; reading of, 10, 161–162; “contrarians,” 322;
217–238; selection for textbooks, definition of, 1–2, 18, 37, 166,
231; what counts as, 227 211; and digital technology,
postmodernism, 51–52 241–251; early use of the term,
poststructuralism: 51, 181–182; mate- 18–19; and the future, 77–95;
rial effects of discourses, 174–175 and gender, 175–188; history of,
praxis, 68–69, 162 1–2; and performance assess-
ment, 206–213; deciding pur-
race: defining, 117–121; as socio-po- poses of, 319–321; racism in,
litical concept, 119–121; in social 126–131
studies, 137–154 social studies curriculum: alternative
See also racism roots of, 19–20; civics-centered,
racism: colorblind, 138; experiences 22, 32; conceptions of, 12; and
of minorities in the U.S., consideration of possible futures,
122–123; responding to, 83–86; control over, 17, 23–29;
123–125and social studies cur- and cultural transmission,
riculum, 8, 19; 115–132; and 321–324; definitions of, 17–23;
racialization, 120–121; and the and digital technology, 10–11,
social sciences, 126–128 241–251; early historical contexts
of, 78–80; and enculturation,
sexism: 167 283; and ethical comments and
See also gender beliefs, 266–268; frameworks
sexuality: 51; heterosexism, 259; les- proposed for, 21–23, 88–94; a
bian, bisexual, gay and transgen- nd the future, 77–95; and gender,
der (LBGT) issues, 11, 255–264 9; historical accounts of, 17;
Subject Index 357
history-centered, 19, 22, 37–49, teaching: basic skills using LGBT-

77–79; as ideological battle- related materials, 261–263; con-
ground, 2, 17; 37–38, 321–330; ception of, 5–7; constraints of
improvement of, 6–7; as inter- testing on, 199; constructivist
disciplinary study, 19; issues- approach, 37–49; and everyday
centered, 22, 32, 42; lack of experience as target of inquiry, 6;
consensus about, 2, 19, 37–38, historical patterns of, 42–43;
41–43, 48, 78, 161–162; and inquiry method, 27; models of
lesbian, gay, bisexual, and trans- social deliberation, 269–276; as
gender (LBGT) issues in, 11, moral enterprise, 267–268; as
255–264; and moral reasoning, reflective practice, 6; revolution-
274; and oppression (racialized ary pedagogies, 159–161; and
and gender-based), 20; origins role of textbooks, 30–31; roles
of, 2, 18–20; pattern of course in assessment, 198, 201–202;
offerings, 24–25, 94; purposes of, a sense of obligation to children,
2, 18, 20–23, 321–324; and 266–268; strategies for global
racism, 8, 15–132; remaking of, perspective, 284–292; Traditional
319–330; subject-centered, 22, Social Studies Instruction, 161,
32; teachers’ role in creating, 17; 166
and technology, 77–80; and vi- technology: and social studies
sual culture, 217–238 curriculum, 10–11, 241–251;
standards-based educational reform testing: constraints of state-mandated
(SBER): 8, 18, 25, 31; 99–112; tests on teaching, 199, 204;
liberal-conservative consensus on, deleterious effects of, 204;
101–103; organized resistance to, examples of bad questions, 109;
108–112; role of corporations in, differential effects on minority
111–112; role of parent groups, students, 204; failed expectations
112 of, 107–108; high-stakes tests, 5,
See also curriculum standards 8, 99–112, 204; and matrix
stereotypes: countering, 137–138 sampling, 203–204; organized
students: as consumers and producers resistance to, 108–112; socio-
of knowledge, 41; differential ef- political purposes of, 199–200;
fects of testing on, 204; organiza- and standards-based educational
tion of, 112; roles of in reform, 107–108; technical
assessment, 200–202 developments in, 202–206
See also assessment
teacher education: 166, 186–187 textbooks: “adoption states,” 26;
teachers: beliefs of, 4, 20, 30; deci- authors, 5, 27; critique of, 87–88,
sion-making, 30; 41–42; work of, 165; as a cultural mindset,
4; professional role, 4, 30–31; re- 86–88; and curriculum standard-
liance upon textbooks, 87–88; ization, 26–28; efficiency versus
role in creating curriculum, 18, individuality and competitiveness
29–32; 41–44; role in students’ in, 203–204; and gender, 176;
understanding of capitalism, and iconic portraiture, 222–223;
160–161; theories and behaviors ideology, 231–232; industry, 27;
of, 5–6; use of digital technolo- lesbian, gay, bisexual, and
gies, 246–247 transgender (LGBT) content in,
358 Subject Index
textbooks (continued) whiteness: 137–154

255–257; nationalistic material working class: 159, 162
in, 18; and promotion of values, world wide web: use in social studies,
27; reading portraiture in, 11
217–238; teachers’ reliance upon, See also technology
87; and visual culture, 10
visual culture: and the concept of

meaning, 218–219; and social
studies curriculum, 10, 217–238
See also portraiture
EDUCATION
The Social Studies Curriculum

Purposes, Problems, and Possibilities, Third Edition
E. Wayne Ross, editor
The third edition of The Social Studies Curriculum thoroughly updates the definitive
overview of the primary issues teachers face when creating learning experiences for
students in social studies. By connecting the diverse elements of the social studies
curriculum —history education, civic, global, and social issues—the book offers a
unique and critical perspective that separates it from other texts in the field. This
edition includes new work on race, gender, sexuality, critical multiculturalism, visual
culture, moral deliberation, digital technologies, teaching democracy, and the future
of social studies education. In an era marked by efforts to standardize curriculum
and teaching, this book challenges the status quo by arguing that social studies
curriculum and teaching should be about uncovering elements that are taken for
granted in our everyday experiences, and making them the target of inquiry.
“The Social Studies Curriculum demystifies the process of social studies curriculum
construction. This helps empower pre-service and beginning teachers to become
curriculum designers rather than just curriculum consumers. The authors avoid
educational jargon and a great strength of the book is its accessibility to readers.
I look forward to using this new edition with my social studies education classes.”
— Alan J. Singer, author of Social Studies for Secondary Schools:
Teaching to Learn, Learning to Teach, Second Edition
“This book is a valuable resource for understanding the theoretical and practical
dimensions of the most important issues in social studies education today. The
authors provide a wide range of critical perspectives and represent some of the best
new scholarship in the field. The book is also an important source for social studies
educators and teachers confronted with the challenges posed by the current standards-
based education reform.” — William B. Stanley, editor of Critical Issues
in Social Studies Research for the Twenty-first Century
E. Wayne Ross is Professor of Curriculum Studies at the University
of British Columbia. He has written and edited many books, includ-
ing (with Jeffrey W. Cornett and Gail McCutcheon) Teacher Personal
Theorizing: Connecting Curriculum Practice, Theory, and Research,
also published by SUNY Press.
State University of
New York Press
www.sunypress.edu
NAME INDEX
1984, 259 Angelou, M., 53

9/11, 290 Anti-Defamation League, 128
Anyon, J., 56
Adams, John, 225 Anzaldua, G., 180
Adams, N., 183 Apple, M. W., 27, 52, 58, 69–70,
Addams, Jane, 258 128, 164, 233
The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Arizona Daily Star, 110
125–126 Arnot, M., 183
Aesop’s Fables, 271 Aschbacher, P., 204
Ajogún, 165 Asher, N., 172, 178, 184
Alexander, M. J., 180 Assman, A., 243
Alger, C. F., 284 Association of American Geographers,
Alleman, J., 207 213
Allen, R., 128
Allman, P. 157–162 Bacchi, C. L., 9, 172–175, 185
Ambler, M., 137 Bagley, W. C., 26
American Educational Research Baker, E. L., 3, 205
Association, 176 Baker, P., 207
American Geographical Society, 213 Baldwin, Jame, 257
American Historical Association: 2, 19 Ball, S. 174
American History: the Early Years to Baltodano, M., 159
1877, 258 Banks, J., 153, 179, 283
“American Idol”, 299 Banton, M., 116
American Indians: 9, 116, 122, 129, Barlow, A. L., 116
137–154; experiences of Barnard, Henry, 24
139–154; usage of, 153 Barr, R. D., 20–21, 60, 79, 320
American Memories, 242, 251 Barry, A., 218
American Psychological Association, Barth, J. L., 20–21, 60, 79, 320
104, 106 Barton, K. C., 43, 201
American Revolution, 18 Bashir-Ali, K., 178–179
Amnesty International, 177, 182 Basta Ya!, 165
An Attainable Global Perspective, 285 Beale, C., 271
Ancess, J., 204 Beane, J., 69
Anderson, L., 284 Beard, C. A., 39
Angell, A. V., 57 Becker, H. J., 246, 249
341
342 Name Index
Becker, J., 284 Brown v. Board of Education, 116,

The Bell Curve, 125 122, 131
Bell, D., 137 Bryson, M., 246
Benhabib, S., 177 Bryson, N., 237
Bennett, T., 244 Buendia, E., 116
Ben-Peretz, M., 30 Bulbeck, C., 177, 180, 182
Berbier, M., 116 Bunch, C., 186
Berger, J., 229 Burbules, N., 279
Berliner, D. C., 102 Burke, P., 220
Berman, S., 310 Bush, George H. W., 80
Berkowitz, M. W., 272, 275 Bush, George W., 78, 91, 165, 301
Bernard-Powers, 175 Business Alliance of Massachusetts,
Berson, M. J., 242, 247 112
Bethune, M. M. 152 Business Council of New York, 112
Bettis, P., 183 Buzawa, C., 173
The Bible, 18 Buzawa, E. S., 173
Biddle, B. J., 102
Billig, S. H., 305 Caitlin, George, 226
Birmingham, Alabama, 303 Calazzo, A., 187
Bishop, A., 247 Californians for Justice, 116
Bixby, J., 204 Callan, E., 266, 276, 279
Black, H., 27 Campbell, G., 116–117
Blaut., J. M., 140, 287 Capital, 158–159
Block, A. A., 59 Carlson, D., 69
Blum, L., 120, 275, 279 Carr, E. H., 39–40
Bohan, C., 247 Carr, W., 6
Boisvert, R., 324–325 Carson, R., 151
The Borderlands Collective for Social Cartwright, L., 230
Justice, 168 Carver, G. W., 151
Bordo, S., 174 Case, R., 284
Borgman, C. I., 242, 251 Cassidy, K., 272, 274
Boston, C., 204 Center for Civic Education (CCE),
Boston (Massachusetts) schools, 202 60–63, 65–66, 104, 213
Bowler, M., 27 Center for Education Statistics, 309
Bowles, S., 56 Center for History and New Media,
Boyt, H. C., 301 242, 251
Brameld, T., 320 Chaplin, S., 220
Brandenburg, J., 182 The Character Counts! Coalition, 300
British Library, 242 Chávez Chávez, R., 162
Brooks, Garth, 126 Chief Joseph (Hinmahtooyahlatkekt),
Brooks, M. G., 25 152–153
Brophy, J., 207 Cheng, L-R. L., 129
Brousseau, B., 209 Cherryholmes, C., 128
Brown, D., 140 Chi, B., 306, 313
Brown, G., 173, 176 Chicago, Illinois, 111–112
Browne, D., 207 Chinese Exclusion Act of 1882, 120
Name Index 343
Chomsky, N., 163, 323, 326–327 Covenant of the League of Nations,

Chow, R., 137 129
Christian-Smith, L., 27 Cowlishaw, G., 116
Chu, J., 272, 274 Crabtree, C., 103
Churchill, Winston, 48 Critical Multicultural Social Studies
Civil Rights Movement, 303 (CMSS): 9, 157–168; Marxist
CIVITAS, 60–66, 70–71 CMSS, 166–168
See also curriculum standards Crocco, M. S., 9, 172, 175–176, 178,
Clark, Septima, 19 181–182, 184, 320
Class Warfare, 330 Cuban, L., 42–43, 246, 322
Cleaver, H., 159 Cullen, M. K., 256
Clinton, B., 80, 101 Culture and Imperialism, 288
Close-up Foundation, 303 Curriculum for a New Millennium,
Coalition for Authentic Reform in 83, 95
Education, 112 Curtis, Edward, 226
Coalition for Educational Justice, 112 Cushner, K., 284
Coast Salish, 143, 151
Cocker, M., 1140 Dahlsgaard, K., 272, 274
Cohen, J., 73 “The Daily Show,” 81
Cohn, Roy, 259 Darder, A., 116, 137
Coleman, I., 188 Darling, L., 284
Coles, R., 269, 275 Darling-Hammond, 204
College and University Faculty Assem- Datnow, A., 184
bly of NCSS, 131, 153–154, 176 David, M., 176
Collins, C., 121 Davis, Jr., O. L., 30, 247
Columbus, Ohio, 178 The Day of Doom, 260
Coming Out Under Fire, 261 Dean, H., 81
Commission on Social Studies (AHA), Decolonising the Mind, 287
2 Deegan, M., 247
Committee of Seven (AHA), 18, 24 DeGarmo, C., 24
Committee of Ten (NEA), 24 Democracy and Education, 6, 319
Committee on Social Studies (NEA), “Democracy Now,” 165
2, 18, 24, 44, 78, 161 Denes, R., 116–117
Committee on the Elimination of Dis- den Heyer, K., 321
crimination Against Women, 187 de Tocqueville, A., 122
Conant, J. B., 202 Dewey, J.: 5, 26, 31–32, 72, 161, 267,
Constitutional Rights Foundation, 313 307, 319–320, 324–326,
Continental Congress, 327 328–330; definition of democ-
Contreras, G., 153 racy, 324–325; definition of re-
Coombs, J., 284 flective thought, 324
Cornbleth, C., 23, 25, 27, 131 Dickenson, D., 95
Cornett, J. W., 23, 30 Dierkling, L., 251
Cotter, H., 223 Digicult, 248
Council on Interracial Books for Dillabough, J. A., 183
Children, 128–129 Diversity and Citizenship Education,
Counts, G. S., 19, 161, 320 179
344 Name Index
Doherty, R., 142 Farahmandpur, R., 158

Doty, R. L., 116 Farr Darling, L. 11, 266, 271, 274
Doughty, J., 182 Fauset, Jessie, 19
Douglass, F., 151 Feminist Majority Foundation, 187
Dove, T., 284 Fernekes, W., 128, 130
Downey, M. T., 43 Finn, Jr., C. E., 89, 102
D’Sousa, D., 116 Finney, S., 284
Dunbar, S. B. Fleury, S. C., 131
DuBois, W. E. B., 19, 285–288 Florence, N., 69
Dudley, R. L., 299 Flournoy, M. A., 284
Dunn, R. E., 103 Foner, E., 45
Duty, L., 182 Foreign Affairs, 188
Foucault, M., 230
Earhart, A., 151 Fragnoli, K. 10, 107, 110
Earl, L. M., 201 Francis, D., 227
East Palo Alto, California, 110 Franklin, Stuart, 222
Edinboro, Pennsylvania, 59 Frederick County Youth Service
Education Commission of the States, League, 303–304, 307, 309
179 Freeman, C. E., 171
The Education Feminism Reader, 174 Freeman, M., 111, 198, 204
Ehrenreich, B., 177 Freire, P., 51, 53, 67–68, 70, 72, 87,
Electronic Beowolf, 242, 251 162, 164–165
Elementary and Secondary Education Friedman, B., 173
Act Friedman, T., 173, 184
See No Child Left Behind Act Fullinwider, R. K., 20
Eliot, C., 24 Futurist, The, 95
Ellery, A., 328
Ellington, L., 22, 77, 89, 322 Gabbard, D., 25, 28, 320, 322, 325
Elnore, A., 178–179 Gadamer, H. G., 243
Encyclopedia of Social Science, 328 Galloway, G., 237
Engle, S., 21–22, 45, 60 Galston, W., 279
Enloe, S., 177 Gandhi, M., 313
Epp, J. R., 59 Garbarino, J., 172
Evangelista, B., 80–81 Garcia, J., 90, 116
Evans, J., 237 Gardner, H., 204
Evans, R. W., 2, 17, 19, 37, 42–43, Garrod, A., 272
78–79, 90, 320 Gaudelli, B., 179
Expectations of Excellence, 60–61, Gay, G., 129–130
64, 66, 70–71, 104 Gay, Lesbian, Straight Education Net-
See also curriculum standards work (GLSEN), 256–257
Gay-Straight Student Alliance, 255
FairTest (National Center for Fair and Gee, J. P., 94
Open Testing), 204 Gehrke, N. J., 1
Falk, J., 251 Geography for Life: National
Falks, B., 204 Geography Standards, 104
Falluja, Iraq, 232 Gerstner, L., 101–102, 112
Name Index 345
Getting Beyond the Facts, 166 Henwood, D., 122

Gibson, C., 302, 305–306, 314 Herman, J., 204
Gibson, R., 25, 131, 160, 162, 168, Hernstein, R. J., 125
326, 328 Hertzberg, H. W., 320
Gillette, M., 131 Hess, D., 307
Gilligan, C., 272 Heubert, J., 107, 109–110
Gilroy, P., 286 Hickey, M. G., 178
Gintis, H., 56 Hicks, D., 251
Giroux, 52, 57, 69–70, 128, 162, 321 The Highlander Democracy Schools
Gielson, A. R., 299 Initiative, 303–304, 309–310
Glazer-Raymo, J., 172 Hinchey, P., 164
Glenn, J., 204 Hine, Lewis, 225
Glenn, J. C., 94 Hinton-Johnson, K. V., 182
Globalist, The, 95 Hirschfeld, S., 256, 258
Glueck, G., 227 Hirsh, E. D., 101–102
Goals 2000: Educate America Act, Hochshild, A., 177
99–101 Hoffman, A. M., 59
Gochenour, T., 284 Hoff-Sommers, C., 172
Goode, G. B., 244 Holly, M., 237
Goodlad, J. I., 42 hooks, b., 53, 68
Goudge, P., 116 Hoover, J. Edgar, 258
Gould, S. J., 125 Horn, L., 171
Greene, M., 53, 68, 90 Horton, M., 304
Grych, J. H., 272, 275 Horsman, J., 182–183
Guarjado, F. J., 116 Horton, Myles, 19
Guarjado, M. A., 116 Howells, R., 226, 237
Guevara, Che, 222 How We Think, 5
Guthrie, J., 110 Hudis, P., 166
Hughes, Langston, 258–259
Hahn, C., 175, 187 Hu, Jintao, 301
Hall, S., 225, 237 Hunt, M. P., 21
Hamilton, Alexander, 328 Hursh, D., 2, 21, 56, 58, 131, 161, 320
Handbook of Research on Hutton, D., 179–180
Curriculum, 3
Hanvey, R. G., 284–285 Ignatieff, M., 266
Harding, S., 180 I Know Why Caged Birds Sing, 53
Harf, J. E., 284 Imagine: What American Could Be in
Harris, W. T., 24 the 21st Century, 95
Hart, A. B., 40 Immigration Act of 1965, 178
Hauser, 107, 109–110 Institution of Museum and Library
Hawke, S., 21 Service, 245
Hawkins, J., 131–132 Irby, B. J., 173, 176
Healy, J. M., 111
Helburn, S. W., 30 Jackson, H. H., 137, 140
Henderson, H., 95 Jarolimek, J., 60
Henning, M., 230 Jay, John, 327–328
346 Name Index
Jefferson, Thomas., 164, 225, 328, 330 Korda, Alberto, 222

Jencks, C., 204, 237 Korteweg,
Jennings, F., 140 Kosciw, J. G., 256
Jennings, K., 11, 320 Krug, E. A., 25
Jensen, A., 125
Johnson, D. W., 284, 291 Ladson-Billings, G., 89, 131
Johnson, R. T., 284, 291 LaDuke, W., 140
Johnston, D. K., 272 Lafer, G., 301, 314
Jonesboro, Arkansas, 59 LaGuardia, J. G., 110
Jones, D. H., 209 Lamb, S., 269, 280
Jones, Theresa, 311 Lamy, S., 284
Jones, Thomas Jesse, 18–19, 319 Lange, Dorothea, 222
Jossey-Bass Reader on Gender Larin, K., 301
Education, 182 Lasch-Quinn, 129
Lasswell, H., 328
Kagan, J., 269, 274, 280 Leaves of Grass, 258
Kahne, J., 12, 20, 298, 306, 308, Lee, C., 116
313–314 Lee, E., 138
Kame’eleihiwa, L. 137 Lee, J. K., 242, 251
Kammen, M., 45 Leming, J.: 22, 38, 77, 89, 313,
Kane, Paul, 226 322–324: “two cultures” thesis,
Karp, S., 178–179 322–324
Karsha, Yousuf, 224 Leno, Jay, 299
Kemmis, S., 3, 6 Lerner, G., 172
Kennan, George, 322 Lesbian, Gay, Bisexaul, Transgender
Kessler-Harris, A., 173 History Month, 260
Kesson, K. R., 28, 30, 321–322, 325 Levine, P., 302, 305–306, 314
Kindlon, D., 172 Levstik, L. S., 43, 183, 187, 201
Killen, M., 271 Library of Congress, 242
Kilpatrick, W. H., 26 Libresco, A., 182
Kincheloe, J. L., 25, 161–162, 166 Lies My Teacher Told Me, 167
King, J., 171 Linn, R. E., 108, 202, 204–205
King, Jr., M. L., 151, 222, 312 Lintvedt, A., 179
Kleg, M., 119 Lippman, Walter, 323, 328
Kleibard, H. M., 24 Lipscom, A. A., 328
Klein, M. F., 32 Little Black Sambo, 125
Klein, N., 233 Littleton, Colorado, 59
Klein, S., 173 Liu, T., 186
Kloby, J., 158 Loewen, J. W., 27, 87, 129, 162–164,
Knapp, M. S., 1 167
Kneip, W. M., 284 Lomawaima, K. T., 137
The Knight Foundation, 92 Longstreet, W. S., 20, 83, 86, 95
Koch, J., 173, 176 Lord, M., 110
Kohl, H., 269, 314 Lott, T., 91
Kohlberg, L., 21 Lower Elwha Klallam Nation,
Kohn, A., 100, 301, 314 139–150 passim
Kopytoff, V., 82 Lynch, C., 242
Name Index 347
Mabry, L., 100 Merryfield, M. M., 12, 179–182, 284,

Macedo, D., 165 286
MacIntyre, A., 277 Messick, S., 205
Madaus, G. F., 202–204, 206 Metcalf, L. E., 21
Madison, James, 225, 327 Middaugh, E., 306, 313
Magdoff, H., 330 The Millennials, 80–83
Maher, F. A., 186 Mill, J. S., 278
Maitland, F., 39 Miller, N., 258
Man: A Course of Study, 27 Miller-Jones, D. 204
See also New Social Studies Minnesota Business Partnership, 112
Manguel, A., 237 Minnich, E. K., 181
Mann, H., 202–203 Mizoeff, N., 237
Mann, P., 186, 188 Model United Nations, 305
Malcolm X, 151 Mohanty, C., 180
Malott, C., 9, 168 Monroe, James, 225
Marker, G., 4, 20, 23–24, 26–28, 30 Montgomery County Public Schools,
Marker, P. M., 8, 23–24, 73, 78–79, 131
320, 322 Montgomery County, West Virginia,
Marshall, T., 115, 122–124, 131–132 304
Marin, H. P.,, 284 Monthly Review, 330
Marx, K., 157–159, 162 Moore, M., 187
Mason, C., 242, 247, 251 Morgan, R., 186
Mathison, S., 8, 10, 25, 57, 100, 107, Moroz, W., 128
110–111, 198–199, 203–204, Morrison, C., 116–117
206, 211, 320–323, 325, 328 MoveOn.org, 81
McCarthy, C., 289 Moving the Centre, 290
McCarthy, T., 266 Moxey, K., 237
McCarthy Era, 259–260 Murray, C., 125
McChesney, R., 326–327 Myrdal, G., 122
McClellan, A., 284
McCutchen, S. P., 20 Nagel, T., 267, 269–270
McCutcheon, G., 4, 23, 26, 28 Nagle, K. M., 204
McDaniel, J., 31 Narayan, U., 180, 286
McGovern, A., 271 Nash, G., 37, 101, 103
McIntosh, P., 130, 185 A Nation at Risk, 99
McLaren, 51, 157–162, 164 National Assessment of Educational
McLaughlin, M. J., 204 Progress (NAEP), 179, 203,
McMurray, F., 24 297–298, 309
McNally, D., 330 National Association of Secretaries of
McNeil, L., 211, 322 State, 301
McTaggart, R., 3 National Center for Educational
Mehlinger, H., 4, 20, 23–24, 26–28, 30 Statistics, 149
Mehrens, W., 108 National Center for History in
Mehrens, W. A., 205 Schools, 104–105, 213
Menkart, D. 138 National Commission on Excellence
MERLOT, 242 in Education, 100
Merryfield, A., 159 National Constitution Center, 299
348 Name Index
National Content Standards for Eco- Newmann, K., 205

nomics, 104 New Right, 53
National Council for Geographic Edu- New Social Studies, 27–28, 30
cation, 104, 213 Ngugi, wa Thiong’o, 285, 287, 290
National Council for the Social Stud- Nickell, P., 207, 209
ies (NCSS): 23, 101, 104–106, Niebuhr, Reinhold, 322
116, 166, 176, 209, 211, 213; No Child Left Behind Act (NCLB),
record in addressing racism, 116, 25, 28, 100, 164–165, 176, 202,
130–132; technology standards, 212, 297
244, 246 Noddings, N., 269, 272
National Council for the Social Stud- Noffke, S. E., 19–20
ies Advisory Committee on Test- No Doubt, 81
ing and Evaluation, 207 No-No Boy, 125
National Council for the Social Stud- Normative Discourse, 320
ies Curriculum Standards for So- Normore, L., 251
cial Studies, 209–212 Norris, J., 284
National Council for the Social Stud- Nucci, L. P., 272
ies Curriculum Standards Task Nueborne, E., 81
Force, 60, 64 Nunner-Winkler, G., 277
See also curriculum standards Nussbaum, M. C., 177, 181–184, 179
National Council of Teachers of
Mathematics (NCTM), 99–100 Ochoa, A., 21–22, 60
National Council on Economic Edu- O’Connor, M. C., 204
cation, 213 O’Donnell, J., 162
National Defense Education Act, 27 Office of Technology Assessment, 204
National Endowment for the Humani- Ohanian, S., 111, 312
ties (NEH),, 245 Okazawa-Rey, M., 138
National Education Association: 2, 19 Oliver, D., 21
National Georgaphic Society, 213 Olson, S., 118
National History Standards, 103–106 Omi, M., 119–120
National Research Council Commit- One Size Fits Few, 111
tee on Appropriate Test Use, 109 Open Archives Library Center,
National School Climate Survey, 256 245–246, 248
National Standards for Civics and Gov- Orfield, G., 116
ernment, 60, 62–63, 66, 70–71 Organized Students of Chicago, 112
National Standards for the Teaching Orientalism, 288
of High School Psychology, 104 Orr, J., 284
Native Son, 125–126 Ortman, B., 173
The Needs of Strangers, 266 Orwell, George, 259
Neill, M., 209 Out of the Past, 260
Nelson, J. L., 8, 17–18, 21–22, 79, 126, The Overground Railroad, 303, 306,
128, 130, 151, 283, 320–321, 325 311–312, 314
Nelson, M. R., 94
Newhall, B., 224 Pacifica Radio Network, 165
New Horizons for Learning, 95 Pang, V. O., 8, 89, 116–117, 129,
New México State University, 162 131, 151, 153, 162, 168, 283,
Newman, A., 286 320–321, 325
Newmann, F., 21, 60, 322 Pantziara, N., 182
Name Index 349
Parenti, M., 158 Pruyn, M., 9, 166, 168

Parents Across Virginia United to Putnam, H., 267, 274
Reform SOLs, 112 Putnma, R. 299
Parents for Educational Justice in
Louisiana, 112 Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, 255
Parents United for Responsible
Education in Illinois (PURE), 112 Race, Ethnicity and Education:
Parker, W. C., 31, 60, 302, 314 Principles of Multicultural
Parks, Rosa, 222, 314 Education, 168
Paskoff, M., 299 Rains, F. V., 8, 138, 141–142, 320
Patel, V., 172, 182 Ravitch, D., 19, 22, 79, 89, 101–102
Patterson, J., 116 Rawls, J., 267, 276
Pearl, Mississippi, 59 Ray, K. 251
Pear, R., 326 Reagan, R., 80
Pedagogy of the Oppressed, 51, 68 Reardon, B., 177
Penna, A., 128 Reese, L., 182
Perkins Vocational and Applied Regents Examinations (New York
Technology Act, 25 State), 25, 203
Perlmutter, P., 129 “Relation of Theory to Practice in
Perrone, V., 204 Education,” 5
Peter, K., 171 Remmington, Fredric, 230
Peter McLaren: Paths of Dissent, 168 Rethinking Schools, 163
Peterson, V. S., 186 Reynolds, W., 157
Petras, J., 326 Rice, S., 279
Phi Delta Kappan, 314 Rich, F., 233
Phillips, M., 204 Rierson, S., 182
Phipps, Susie Guillory, 119–120 Rikowski, G., 157, 159–160
Pike, G., 284 The Rise of the Meritocracy, 123
Pinar, W., 157 Rivera, J., 131
Pittsfield, Massachusetts, 110 Robinson, T., 301
Plato, 123 Rong, X. L., 178
Pocahontas, 152 Roosevelt, Eleanor, 258
Points of Light Foundation, 300, 314 Rosenthal, Joe, 22
Pollack, W., 172 Ross, E. W., 2, 4, 8–9, 17, 21, 23,
Popham W. J., 3, 108 25–26, 28–30, 32, 56–58, 60, 71,
Popkewitz, T. S., 322 73, 78, 89, 100–101, 103, 111,
Porter, Cole, 259 116, 128, 131, 161–162, 164,
Porter, K. 77, 89 167–168, 199, 204, 283,
Porter, K. H., 301 320–323, 325–326, 328, 330
Porter-Magee, K., 22, 322 The Rouge Forum, 112, 132, 163, 165
Port Gamble S’Klallam Nation, Rowan, C., 123
139–150 passim Ruddell, M. R., 86–87
Posselt, J., 307 Rudner, L. M., 204
Postman, N., 58 Rugg, H., 307, 320
Pratt, M. L., 289, 292 Runyan, A. S., 186
Primus, W., 301 Russell, Charles, 230
Project Method, 26 Russo, A., 180
Prucha, F. P., 140–141 Ryan, R. M., 110
350 Name Index
Sacagawea, 152 Social Education, 175, 178, 182, 209,

Sacks, P., 108 243
Sadker, D., 176, 182 Social Science Record, 207
Saffer, P., 284 Social Studies in the Hampton Institute,
Said, E., 180, 284–285, 288–289 18, 319
Samson, R. W., 93 The Social Studies Secondary Schools
Sanders, D., 4 (report of Committee on Social
San Francisco Chronicle, 91 Studies of the National Educa-
San Juan, 284 tion’s Association’s Commission
Saxe, D. W., 19, 30–31, 60, 161 on the Reorganization of
Schiraldi, V., 59 Secondary Schools), 2
Schlesinger, Jr., A., 22, 30–31 Sodian, G., 277
Schubert, W. H., 24, 26–28, 30, 32 Southern Workman, 18, 319
Schultz, N., 207 Spivak, G. C., 180
Schumann, H., 284 Staiger, A., 116
Schur, M. R., 265 Stambach, A., 176
Schwab, J., 9, 172–173 Standing Bear v. Crook, 141
Seathl, 139 Stanley, W. B., 17–18, 20–22, 128,
Secada, W., 205 320–322
Segal, A., 181 Stark, P., 91
Sehr, D., 277 Stein, 182
Seixas, P., 226 Steinberg, S., 161
Selby, D., 284 Stewart, J., 82
Selma, Alabama, 303 Stone, L., 174
Seneca Falls Convention, 151 Stromquist, N. P., 176
Seneway, A., 58 Stuart, Gilbert, 225, 227
Shane, H. G., 83, 86, 95 Student Nonviolent Coordinating
Shapiro, S., 284 Committee, 303
Shaver, J. P., 20–21, 30, 320 Sturken, M., 230
Shepard, L. A., 204 Subedi, B., 12, 180–181
Shepard, Matthew, 59 Sunburst, 80
Sheppard, P., 232 Superka, D. P., 21
Shermis, S. S., 20–21, 60, 79, 320 Surdna Foundation, 298
Shinew, D., 284 Sutton, M., 179–180
Sinha, V., 111
Sirotnik, K. A., 1 Tabachnick, R., 18–19, 319
Sitting Bull, 151 Tanner, S., 247
Slattery, P., 157, 161 Taubman, P., 157
Sleeter, C., 162, 286 Taylor, C., 272, 279
Smith, M. L., 204 Taylor, P., 320
Smedley, B., 116 Telles, E. E., 116
Smetana, J., G., 271 Terrorists, Despots, and Democracy:
Smith-Hughes Act, 25 What Our Children Need To
Smithsonian Institution, 242 Know, 77
Smothers, Marcello, J., 209–210 That Men May Understand, 307
Snedden, D., 161 The One Best System, 79
Name Index 351
Theory and Research in Social Walker, C. J., 152

Education, 175–176, 330 Walker, D., 91
Thomas B. Fordham Foundation, Walker, J., 220
77–78 Walker, M., 230
Thomas, O., 299 Walzer, M., 267
Thorndike, E. L., 199 Ward, J., 272
Thornton, S. J., 2, 20, 23, 29, 40–41 Ward, J. V., 186
Three Stooges, 299 Washington, George, 225
Too Scared to Learn, 182 Watkins, E. 83
Torney-Purta, J., 291, 305 Watkinson, A. M., 59
Torres, L., 180 Waugh, D., 25, 27
Torres, R. D., 116, 137 Weinberg, M., 117
Traditional Social Studies Instruction, Wells, L., 237
161, 166, 321–324 Werner, W., 10, 218, 284
Trahan, R., 187 West, C., 137, 151–152
Treaty of Point No Point, 145 Westbrook, R. B., 329
Trinh, T. M-H., 180 Westheimer, J., 12, 20, 298, 308, 314
Trofanenko, B., 10, 245 West Paducah, Kentucky, 59
Trueba, E. T., 137 What We Owe Each Other, 266
Tsutsui, K., 116 Whelage, G., 205
Turiel, E., 272 Whelan, M., 7–6, 19, 22, 37, 42, 79,
Tyack, D., 79 320
Tyler, R., 3 Where Did Social Studies Go Wrong?,
Tyson, C., 182 77
White, H. 241
Udden, J. A., 244 Whiting, Helen, 19
Ulrich, R., 142 Whitman, Walt, 258
United Nations, 177–178, 232 Whitson, J. A., 322
See also Model United Nations Widmeyer Communications, 256
USA Today, 109 Wiggins, G., 200, 204–205, 207, 209
U.S. Constitution, 262, 327 Will & Grace, 255
U.S. Department of Education, Wilkinson, C., 142
101–102, 204, 297, 314 Willinsky, J., 228, 288
U.S. Department of Housing and Willis, P., 160
Urban Development (HUD), Wilson, A., 179, 284
300–301 Wilson, A. H., 284
U.S. Supreme Court, 122, 327 Wilson, E., 247
Wilson, W., 129
Valle, R., 89, 117–118 Winant, H., 119–120
Veltmeyer, H., 326 Winters, L., 204
Vinson, P. M., 73 Wirth, A., 25
Vinson, K. D., 8, 21–22, 25, Whole Schooling Consortium, 112,
28–29, 57–58, 89, 100–101, 132, 320
123, 161, 283, 320–323, 325, Wolf, D. P., 204
328 Wolfe, J., 182
Vokey, D., 276 Wood, E. M., 330
352 Name Index
Woodson, Carter G., 19 Young, I. M., 51–55, 64, 66–67, 73

World Economic Forum, 188 Young, M. F. D., 123
World History Matters, 242, 251
Woyshner, C., 175 Zhoa, Y., 246
Wysocki, B. L., 210 Zinn, H., 162–163
Zittleman, K., 176
Yakel, E., 251
Yeager, E., 247

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The Social Studies

State University of New York Press

© 2006 State University of New York

All rights reserved

Printed in the United States of America

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever

For information, address State University of New York Press,

Production by Diane Ganeles

Library of Congress Cataloging-in Publication Data

8. Marxism and Critical Multicultural Social Studies 157

If the curriculum field in general is contentious in terms of definition

Social Studies in Schools

the social studies curriculum—the study of human enterprise across

The Language of Teaching and Curriculum

One teacher may proclaim that one of democracy’s virtues is a toler-

When examining the enacted curriculum in the classroom, as opposed

Rethinking Teaching and Curriculum

Practical theories of teaching are the conceptual structures and visions

Such theories are important to the success of teaching because educa-

between formal educational theory and teacher behaviors (where ends

Teachers could no more teach without reflecting upon (and hence

Problems of teaching and curriculum are resolved not by discovery

We rarely recognize the extent in which our conscious estimates of what

Social studies teaching and learning should be about uncovering the

ing practices among teachers and their collaborators (colleagues, stu-

The Plan of the Book

approach to history. He suggests a series of guidelines for social studies

Social Studies: A Post-Social Studies Reality Check,” that focusing on the

gender, their underlying assumptions, and effects as well as ways in which

through digital objects accessible from cultural heritage institutions such

cultivating a sense of obligation to others is a natural and appropriate task

It is my hope that these essays will stimulate readers to reconsider

Popham, W. J., & E. L. Baker. (1970). Establishing instructional goals. Englewood

What is the Social Studies Curriculum?

cans “would never be able to become integral members of the broader

Social educators have another history, one not directly connected to

The Purposes of the Social Studies Curriculum: Cultural Transmission and

[T]he apparent consensus on behalf of citizenship education is almost

Various schemes have been used by researchers to make sense of the

such as moral dilemmas and values clarification. Some advocates argue

Who Controls the Social Studies Curriculum?

harbored a tension between approaches that rely on centralized efforts

Influence of Nongovernmental and Governmental Policy Efforts

K. Self, school, community, home

10. World history

Efforts to centralize the curriculum through government mandates

I have just hinted at the large-scale centralizing influence of educa-

Knowledge from the disciplines would be brought to bear on the pro-

exert an enormous influence on the content of textbooks used nationwide.

Although textbook authors no longer sugarcoat how slavery affected

In his analysis of the history of curriculum centralization, Schubert notes

experts in academic disciplines, viewed teachers as implementers not active

proponents of grassroots democracy in curriculum offered the expla-

Because the aim of these projects is to create a national educational

What Is the Social Studies Teacher’s Role in Relation to

What is clear from studies of teacher decision making, however, is

Teacher’s beliefs about schooling, his or her knowledge of the subject

Although powerful cultural and institutional forces work to shape

In the context of the standards-based curriculum movement, Dewey’s

Parker, W. C., & McDaniel, J. (1992). Bricolage: Teachers do it daily. In E. W.

The Nature of Historical Knowledge

tive of an uncertain understanding of the nature of historical knowledge

explicated by historians, or by students. Albert Bushnell Hart (1910,