A practice from the SCRR Critical Friends Group Work “Re-writing Our Narratives: Cultivating Awareness and Collective Care through Critical Literacy – A Critical Friends Group”
Opening
“To tell the truth is to become beautiful, to begin to love yourself, value yourself. And that’s political, in its most profound way.”
June Jordan
We are living in a time where grief and chaos call for us to individually and collectively question everything we thought we knew about ourselves, our country and the world. Each day can bring a host of emotions, new and old feelings that can tear apart our plans and leave us feeling lost. Our emotions can impact our internal worlds like unnatural wildfires burning through sacred (is)lands, and the resulting smoke polluting the air miles away. We might feel grief in large waves, cool winds and hurricanes leaving swirls of confusion. We may ask ourselves, “What just happened? How could this happen?”
Naming a thing or the things is a way for us to practice renewal through the act of journaling and/or poetry. Creative writing assists us to name our individual and collective experiences as a form of self and community care.
Writing creatively gives us more space to feel and ask the essential question Kaniela Ing posed to us on NPR, “who/what is causing the underlying conditions (of the unnatural disasters in our lives)?” Hawaiian activist Dr. Haunani-Kay Trask dedicated her life to answering that question by calling for Hawaiian sovereignty and the end of U.S. tourism. She is a reminder of how important and heart wrenching the work is to name a thing amid chaos and disruption in the wake of colonization. She stood proudly in her full humanity saying, “I am so proud to be here,” she said. “I am so proud to be angry. I am so proud to be Hawaiian.”Our emotions provide a powerful place to recover our truth and also our confidence in the face of unbearable loss. Our emotions expressed through our words carry valuable information and healing remedies. This is the power of poetry to name a thing. She wrote:
Hawaiian at heart:
nothing said
about loss
violence, death
by hundreds of thousands.
-Dr. Haunani-Kay Trask
I dedicate this post to her legacy and those many other activists, community members and students who have chosen to name a thing amid waves of immeasurable loss and grief made by the recurrence of unnatural tragedies. To this, I also quote June Jordan who asked us years ago, “Who will join this standing up?”
Naming a thing is about truth telling. It is about leaning into feeling until it transforms into words, color, or whatever shape it wants to take. It is about a deep level of self inquiry that begins the building blocks to a loving friendship with yourself.
This is only possible when you “feel more and think less” to quote my poet sister. To name a thing is to honor the relationships in your life with two open eyes and to speak your truth even when your voice shakes. In a culture, where displaying feelings is shamed, feminized and discarded, to think alongside feeling is a revolutionary act and a powerful skill no matter how disorienting it may feel at first. Audre Lorde says that, “Poetry is not a luxury.” The essay is a powerful recipe for documenting the wisdom that also comes alongside overwhelming, disorienting feelings of loss and grief. This wisdom birthed from these internal quakes of emotion is also our source of healing and restoration. Creative acts, like writing, are our first critical friends. Not the one who judges us, but the one who helps us to name the things that are causing pain to identify and address it to prevent more trauma.
The following is a journey of feeling and naming as I have come to practice it. This blog grows concentrically like the “Re-writing Our Narratives: Cultivating Awareness and Collective Care through Critical Literacy- Critical Friends Groups” (CFGs) I co-led with Oriana Ides in 2021-2022 with SCRR. It begins with developing my own friendship with myself and then into a collaboration with other like minded friends which then become larger groups. I reflect this growth process in three parts, which include
- My personal experience navigating loss as an educator,
- A few examples of the power of critical friendship to create healing responses to crisis and
- A reflection on the Critical Friends Group I developed alongside, my longtime critical friend and co-facilitator, Oriana Ides, to provide space for client serving professionals to express themselves i.e. “name a thing” as a form of recovery and renewal.
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Part 1: My Personal Experience with Loss
As an educator, I have spent over 15 years bearing witness to unnatural forms of violence, death and loss of life rip through schools and surrounding communities. Each time I’ve responded by building curriculum and community which felt like erecting a sandcastle at the water’s edge. I began writing poems by accident. My emotions flooded my awareness and words filled up the page. I felt a bit better and then I shared this practice with my students who were also feeling intensely. I am not a trained artist. I became one out of necessity. I often found myself diving into the wreck so to speak armed with poets and writers who we were never meant to know by name. I relied on these honest writers to help hold myself and my community when facing the weight of generational experiences of loss and hard times. I wrote the following poem in 2017 as a part of my grieving process for a student who was killed by gun violence. I began reflecting on an image from his graduation.
Today I gave my first speech and you graduated high school. We both grew strong in the face of our fears and our knees shook with sheer surprise. We did it. We made it. This moment stands frozen in time.
Your smile called sunlight through closed doors and concrete walls.
I cry because I won’t ever be able to watch the slow creep of joy build in your eyes and the famous grin that stopped time.
I cry because my memory fades and you were made for the future. I mourn for your becoming like a sunrise blocked by perpetual gloom.
Sitting with sadness. I am reminded.
A spirit so bright never dies.
You have been and will always be our light.
Thank you for all of your lessons even now when you’ve taken your last breath
& I want to tear the world apart.
If words are power then I plan to wield them in your honor. Never to be forgotten.
You are the spark and the flame. Humanity versus everything.
Rest in power. Rest in your light.
–For Eric White, 2017
I am sad to say this is one poem of many that lives in my phone, in my journals and graffiti spirals curling around the corners of my heart. These poems are my way of remembering young people who became victims of unnatural cycles of violence that scholar Christina Sharpe conceptualizes as a part of living in the wake of colonization and slavery. I carry the memories of the young people who I have been privileged enough to know in my poetry and my making practices. I do this to not become paralyzed in grief as each new loss knocks against the wounds sprouted by years of bearing witness. I write to acknowledge and honor life amid senseless deaths. I wrote to name what happened from my own perspective and move forward, even if unsteadily at first. I write to remember what my heart ultimately knows, that any type of life, human and non-human, is worthy of our memories and our actions to end cycles of unnatural violence and disaster in the now and for the future.
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Part 2: Cultivating Critical Friendship to Generate Healing Responses to Crisis
Over the course of the pandemic, two very transformative online learning spaces grew out of critical friendships I am deeply thankful for. For seven years I ran a Critical Literacy and College Access program where we started each day with a journal reflection which would lead into a larger group discussion. When in-person learning was no longer possible, our program team began to imagine new ways of building community and connection with the young people. Susan Stewart, fellow artist educator and I were presented with a problem. The baseline of our work was developing community and a sense of connection for young people to critically think and plan for their futures but the conditions developed from COVID 19 made it increasingly hard to foster community let alone dream. One morning, we began class with an anonymous online google document, called the Collective Journal. Our young people were heavily impacted at all levels of their lives given existing systems of inequality facing their communities. Simple yet powerful, the anonymous Google Doc provided a space of collective acknowledgement and release. The magic was posing a simple question to the group of young people gathered together to make meaning of their everyday experiences.
As the pandemic bore on, I began to build sessions to support educators and hold space for themselves and young people. With SCRR, Oriana Ides, my co-facilitator and dear friend, and I reflected about the increasing challenges facing educators and what had sustained us while teaching together over the years. In response, we dreamed of a space that could hold the power of truth telling as a form of self and collective inquiry and healing. Oriana Ides, and I chose the title, “Re-Writing Our Narratives: Cultivating Healing through Critical Literacy and Collective Care” as a way of recognizing how deeply our wellness was impacted by feeling so isolated in our work lives. Critical Friends Groups (CFGs) are powerful places of critical reflection and intervention on schooling practices, but must also be spacious enough to encourage connection through heartfelt and honest expression. We wondered together, “What does wellness look like, sound like, feel like in the height of a pandemic?” We listened to the chorus of voices to help us name the ways this word “wellness” had been changed and taken shape much like our lives.
What does wellness mean in our lives as first responders to seemingly unyielding waves of grief and loss?
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Part 3: A Reflection on Naming and Feeling Together in Our Online Critical Friendship Group
We began the CFG journey with a question in a collective journal: “What are you holding?” The keyword was: “healing.”With time and practice, I came to witness the power of just making space to feel and name our experiences in real time. A calvary of anonymous horses, rhinos, and other google animals came prancing in, typing and sharing – some in mad dashes of words and others in furtive tiptoes, spurts, or even a bit of fuss. Some worried openly about writing in a shared document and how their words might come across to others.
An entry appeared in front of us on in the live collective journal:
“I’ve had to sit with myself in a way that I never have had to in previous times. It has felt painful, sad, scary and overwhelming at times. I’ve lost access to a lot of my self-soothing practices.
Trying to explain the angst, the anger, the fear, the hesitation, the outrage, the concern, the frustration to those in my home and place of work who choose to be less engaged… now I’m wondering why I’m doing this emotional labor for them? Maybe I will stop trying to explain all. the. things. If only because it gives me a chance to breathe and settle.”
anonymous participant
We took a collective breath and allowed ourselves as educators to unfurl,finding ways to continue sitting with ourselves in ways previously beyond our most imaginative selves. The roar of complex emotions, like stormy days that hold both sun and showers, have often left us confused and feeling captive in our experiences. The shared journaling in our Critical Friends’ Group Collective Journal revealed that our inner experiences- when externalized in a shared space-confirm that we are not alone.
Another entry appeared in front of us:
“Moving through uncertainty has been a stressor for me. I am so used to always knowing what’s to come & being prepared for it – but lately there’s been so many things changing. Some things are beyond my control & others have been a conscious decision of mine to change. Even still, I second guess my decisions & sometimes feel lost in the uncertainty.”
anonymous participant
Within the outpouring of stories, our common humanity was held on the page, naming what school failed to teach so many of us about the power of writing: writing is an outlet, a way for us, individually, and collectively, to understand the complexity of being human. And during these times of intense isolation, chaos, and overwhelm, anonymous journaling catalyzed a community in time; when we could not be in the same room.
Another entry appeared in front of us:
“My deep desire to support my children in all of the ways that they need is feeling incredibly overwhelming and I’m grieving heavily the hopes I have for my older son’s wellness. I feel it in my head and neck. Thick with holding. Thick with resistance. Thick with the refusal to let go but it’s hurting.”
anonymous participant
Reading the words of our fellow participants became an act of recognition, affirmation and connection that reminded us that we were not alone. We came to name how our feelings weighed on our heads and hung heavy around our necks. We carried loved ones with us in these words: children, youth, parents, community members, coworkers. We recognized ourselves in each other as we stared through the small Zoom window. Our shared Collective Journal had morphed into a piece of art, a mosaic mirror, a multi-colored quilt, pieced together by imperfect sentences and dangling phrases laden with sentiment.
It was in that sea of honesty, stitched together with the vulnerability of grammatical errors and raw emotion that I was reminded why we must write. We write to save our own lives. To understand our burdens, our pains and our joys. We write to deepen our own humanity. To build bridges of connection.
Another entry appeared in front of us:
My wellness:
Always last
Always last minute
Always a minute too short
My wellness:
Has to be demanded
By my body
By my soul
My wellness:
Impacted by the wellness of those around me
Should be easier
to request
to demand
-Anonymous Participant
Another entry appeared in front of us:
I carry the belief of possibility
That each day presents an opportunity for greatness
I carry the weight of the shoulders I stand upon
Recognizing that I too am the foundation for a stranger
I want to unlearn the disability of self doubt
To move into the unknown with the least amount of questions but the most amount of joy
Where “Am I good enough?” is replaced with “I am good enough.”
-Anonymous Participant
I am reminded of the power and purpose of naming a thing. Looking it straight in the eyes and releasing the shame that silence breeds. In our Critical Friends Group, the reflections in writing and in conversation became a way to carve space for our shared humanity as people who care for others and people who walk away carrying a million and one stories and sometimes forget our own.
As a facilitator, I was reminded in the sighs of relief, the knowing nods, the people staying to chat. I noticed a hesitancy around writing on a page is something I haven’t forgotten as a critical literacy teacher noticing a similar experience when I asked young people to move from discussion to writing. For some it is a place of play and for other’s writing is a fraught experience wrapped up in notions of perfection and the hauntings of grammar police. Meanwhile, I believe we are all writing in our heads, such that our speech and our actions are also forms of narrative unpinned to the page.
As an educator myself, I sat in my own work: Emotion is always flowing through us, placing emphasis on our thoughts and assertions but how often do we have time to rest with what we know and feel? How often can we slow down for our inner experience long enough to let it become visible in our everyday life?
Another entry appeared in front of us:
Dear Frustration,
It’s ok to love hard. It is ok to want more. It is ok to step back.
Dear Anger,
I want you to know that you are seen. You matter to me. I promise to always make space for you.
Dear Sadness,
You are valid and it is okay to FEEL.
I acknowledge and I embrace you, but I will also allow for you to pass.
Happiness is waiting.
Dearest Envy,
It’s okay. You’re a mirror to the places I want to go and who I desire to be.
Guide up, not down. Thank you.
-Anonymous Participants
Naming a thing has power both for ourselves and for others. Whether it be writing, speaking and expressing ourselves through art. In the words and expressions of another, sometimes we find the specificity we have been searching for, like when searching in a crayon box for the right color. In their pointed speech, we find the rhythm, the resonance that soothes our hearts in times of chaos. It is the echo that tells us, we are not alone.
Another entry appeared in front of us:
A Haiku for Tomorrow
A bird sits alone
Winds to strong to fly above
An empty branch shakes
-Anonymous Participant
In bearing witness to the everyday experiences of educators, therapists, administrators, counselors, healers and a plethora of other folk in the service of young people, I was reminded about the most important part of being human, our imperfection. Embracing our humanity allows us to feel seen. To name the imperfect imperfectly is a space of freedom. An acknowledgement. A release. I witnessed just how difficult it is to be heard when we are too busy trying to be perfect. Trauma and crisis are really good at creating chaos, disrupting and distorting our self-perception, and altering our worldviews in ways that impede our well-being. One powerful way to heal beyond trauma is to research our own stories to create coherent narratives of ourselves and our experiences. To sift through the debris of it all and create a bridge or barge between the personal to professional.
The next step is to build bridges of connection to critical friends who will provide a much needed space to make sense, move forward to find more possibilities for healing relationships, maybe even a sense of hope in the face of an unnatural disaster.
I leave you with a quote from a writer, who has led me back to myself time and time again in this work. Toni Morrison writes:
“If you wanna fly, you got to give up the shit that weighs you down.”
– Toni Morrison, Song of Solomon
“Where in our lives are we allowed to name what we have been carrying on our backs?” Oriana and I would agree that a Critical Friends Group is a perfect place to start. You can begin with just one and see how your healing work can grow in time to assist you and your students with time, care and intention.
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Closing Invitation: Essentials for Critical Friends & Collective Journaling when Navigating Crisis
It’s like skipping rope.
In my experience the essentials for a critical friend in navigating loss is also needed to skip rope. The movement, in and out, between and among, feelings and experiences are not recommended to do alone. If you have done one of these more than the other. This is your call to find balance with a favorite childhood activity. You can begin with two friends to hold the ropes and help you set the pace.
A critical friend will…
- Call you out with tenderness and challenge you to find your footing and confidence.
- Listen and honor your need to slow or quicken your pace.
- Remind you to sing because their voices will guide you back to the joy when times get tough.
- Take the lead as you catch your breath.
- Pass over the rope when it is time to switch roles.
- May laugh when the rope hits you and they also will make sure you are okay.
After you have identified your critical friends group, utilize the question bank below to begin an anonymous Collective Journal and start your own naming process.
Question bank for Collective Journal prompts: What does wellness mean to you? What is an issue that is impacting your wellness in your work life? What question do you have about the issue? What do I know and what don’t I know about this issue? What is an issue that is impacting your wellness in your work life? What are some learnings you’ve gained in this process? How might we share our insight, wonderings, affirmations and needs regarding educator wellness and retention with the larger field? |
Resources that can inspire writing about our healing as educators:
- Education as a Practice of Freedom: Reflections on bell hooks by Akello Specia and Ahmed A. Osman
- Safe Healing Circles: Mindful Self-Compassion Interventions
- Teaching to Transgress by bell hooks
- Poetry is Not a Luxury by Audre Lorde
- 5 Why’s Template
- What It Means to Center Healing Justice by Krysten Peck (Emotional Literacy)
- From Safe Space to Brave Space
- Listening with Raw Openness
- Kindred Southern Collective
Grief is a dear teacher as is joy. Playing and returning to childhood games with young and old people are essential sources of renewal and naming for me while navigating grief. Learning to jump rope might sometimes tire out your lungs or make you want to give up but it will be manageable with critical friends who lead with kindness and honesty and have made the choice to play with you today and the next day.
Special thanks to:
- All of our Re-writing Our Narratives: Cultivating Awareness and Collective Care through Critical Literacy – A Critical Friends Group participants
- SCRR staff: Oriana Ides, Niki Magtoto & Leora Wolf-Prusan
- Susan Stewart, Pobre Diabla Creations | Artist | Susan Arenas Stewart
- Ali Jones-Bey
About the author
Noor Jones-Bey is a trans-disciplinary educator, researcher and artist from the Bay Area, CA. She holds a PhD in Urban Education from the Steinhardt School and holds fellowships from the Ford Foundation and the Urban Doctoral Research Initiative at NYU. Her dissertation work examines intergenerational knowing of Black womxn and girls navigating in and out of schools.
Noor is the prior program director of EXCEL at NYU, a critical literacy and college access program for youth in the South Bronx housed at the Metropolitan Center for Research on Equity and the Transformation of Schools. As a scholar deeply interested in the movement between theory and practice, Noor has served as an equity consultant and serves as a founding member of the Radical Listening Project to assist educational professionals.
Noor received an M.A. in Sociology of Education from New York University and a B.A. in American Studies from the University of California, Berkeley. Noor’s interests engage across disciplines of sociology, education, Black and Indigenous studies, and visual culture to examine issues of liminality, identity, space and power as they relate to education.
Noor’s experiences as a student, educator, researcher and program director have equipped her with a diversity of skills and critical perspectives to design research and curriculum that is culturally relevant, responsive and life-centered. In her spare time, she loves to cook, dance, run marathons, travel, and stir up good vibes.