Lessons from the Trail on How to Be a Radical Educator

Before I jump in, let me tell you a bit about who I am. I am an abolitionist educator and community organizer who strives to empower my students as agents of social change and views education as a tool of collective liberation. I have worked with students ranging from kindergarteners to middle aged men and in settings ranging from community gardens to college classrooms to Zoom virtual “field trips” to prisons and youth detention facilities. I know that education, at least formally in the institutions that exist today, is usually far from what it has potential to be and is often a tool (knowing or unknowingly) of oppression. I am part of a movement of radical educators who fiercely believe in the power of teaching and are fighting every day to create classrooms with greater space for the fullness of our humanity.

I am also in a moment of transition, about to begin a new job later this month. My first full time teaching position at an alternative public high school, where I will be collaboratively running a farm-to-table program as the culinary arts teacher and school chef (AKA the “lunch lady”). I am nervous beyond my wits but excited to no end. I am also nerding out heavily and thinking A LOT about critical pedagogy, liberatory education, and how to be the best teacher I can possibly be.

I spent the last year of my life organizing for a food justice nonprofit and teaching/farming at a youth educational farm, where I also helped create and run a series of 5 day “Outdoor Leadership’’ summer camps where we took groups of 12–16 year old campers into the mountains for backpacking trips. I just returned from my last trip, which also marked the end of my time at the farm. Summiting a mountain with a gaggle of stumbling underprepared 12 year olds was exhausting and a tremendous challenge for us all, but I put my pack down knowing that we were all made better by it. As a community of learners, we all left with lessons. Here are a few of mine as they relate to teaching:

The classroom is a frontline of its own. I left for the woods for our first camp the same day a close friend and comrade of mine was arrested for protesting the Line 3 pipeline. They, along with countless others, put their body on the line to defend Indigenous sovereignty and our collective future and the state had no shame in criminalizing them. Knowing they were spending the night in jail in a city foreign to them while I was sleeping under the stars tormented me. I considered skipping the next week of camp to join water defenders in solidarity. I had to do something. But as soon as campers arrived it became clear that the classroom (in our case, the trail) is a frontline of its own where resistance movements must also invest energy as we raise a new generation to do better than the last. On our first day hiking in, we had a magical moment in which a hummingbird landed on my backpack and stayed with us while we hand fed it water. I used this moment of wonder to ask why this wild animal might be interacting with us in this way. We talked about the drought the Sonoran Desert is facing and how during hard times where resources are limited, we must share them with others in need in our community (I gave them the phrase “mutual aid” though they already knew the idea). The conversation led into one about the causes of drought, namely the exploitation of aquifers and climate change. Pushing further into the causes of climate change, I asked them if they knew about Line 3 and water defenders. They did not, so we talked about fossil fuels, pipelines, Indigenous treaties, grassroots resistance, and how young people are on the frontlines of the climate justice movement. I emphasized that they have power to make a difference and change the world as I realized that this is my contribution at this moment. I am teaching this group of kids to think beyond themselves, consider power, collaborate for solutions, and care about issues that matter. We create the frontline and every teaching moment is an opportunity to join the struggle for a more just world.

My primary role as a teacher is to cultivate a sense of community belonging, respect, and self-empowerment. You can’t plant a tree and expect it to grow without amending the soil, watering it, and supporting it during its young and vulnerable stages. Why then do we see our children’s failures as an individual wrongdoing rather than a hint that their environment might need some help. When people feel safe, supported, and witnessed, they rise to their potential and contribute meaningfully to their community. When they feel like they matter and are valued members of a group, they engage diligently and are less distracted. Learning happens best when everyone is present, grounded, and contributing; cultivating a brave space is how I aim to create those conditions for learning. This takes prioritizing getting to know each other, moving at the speed of trust, and checking in often with thoughtful reflection questions. Moving slowly and intentionally is especially important for youth who come from backgrounds where they haven’t been fully witnessed and respected by our society at large (i.e. gender and racially diverse youth).

I witnessed this particularly in how we supported two campers who introduced themselves with different names and pronouns than their parents gave us (but told us not to use their chosen names/pronouns with their parents, which tells me they are not out to them) and later identified themselves as genderqueer and trans to me during a vulnerable conversation about queerness, bullying, homophobia, and how their school did not adequately support them or other students like them. I made sure to support them generously and authentically knowing that they are experiencing intense things at home and this space could be deeply transformative by allowing them to exist safely as they want to be — perhaps this could be a taste of what our world could be and what we can advocate for?

Teaching about consent and pleasure comes in many forms. I think a lot about how violence prevention (sexual and otherwise) happens at the microscale in small, seemingly unrelated ways in the context of sex education and beyond. On these trips, we practiced “challenge by choice”, a principle whereby the student chooses for themselves what level of challenge they want to accept, encouraged by a supportive group of counselors and staff. You might also call this strategy “meeting people where they are at.” I view this as inherently consent-based and a valuable tool to teach about boundaries and doing what feels good for you. We do not force, coerce, or decide for them. We support, show up, catch them when they fall, and encourage them to try again when it feels right. I watched students push themselves far further than I think they ever would have had we forced it upon them. Giving them autonomy to make decisions over what they do with their own body teaches them important lessons about self-advocacy, bodily sovereignty, and communication of needs that translate clearly into so many other aspects of their life. My hope is that they are now more likely to advocate for their needs and desires and respect when others do the same.

Curiosity and play is a teacher’s best friend. We all, and especially children, learn through play. Yet how often as we are told in educational settings that play or fun is to be reserved for outside of the classroom? It is a teacher’s duty to recognize the learning styles of our students, and to overlook play and spontaneous exploration as a primary way in which our kids learn is failing them. Teaching comes in many forms — stepping back and simply creating space for light-hearted creative exploration is one of them. This is especially easy to cultivate in outdoor spaces where the world beckons to be explored and children of all ages easily find their fun, but just as important in other settings where it is our job as teachers to bring creative exploration into the setting as we create an environment conducive to learning.

I saw this on our first trip where the campers collaboratively created an imaginary game in the stream bed as they built small dams and collected rocks. Over the three days we were there, they had developed a world of their own. We were invited by them to explore it and then able to reflect back what we saw and connect it to other ideas. For example, my co-counselor used this as a teaching moment to tell them about rainwater harvesting and watershed management by showing them that they had basically built what amounted to mini check dams. They were fully engaged as he described this. This example shows how letting kids lead the way with play makes learning more intuitive and effective and also allows the teacher to highlight what knowledge the students already hold, building their sense of agency and self-esteem.

To be a “teacher” is to be a facilitator of learning. According to models of critical pedagogy, the teacher must not — should not — be the all-knowing bestower of objective truth. We are not here to have all the answers and treat our students as living file cabinets for knowledge (via standardized testing, strict curricula, etc.) in a rigid hierarchy of exchange. Rather, we are here to inspire creativity, cultivate critical thinking, bring out the existing wisdom within the community, and create space conducive to growth and learning by making sure students are treated as whole, wise, and enough — just as they are. We are here to let them learn as they do via experiential learning, not simply learn from our books. We must treat the community as curriculum and value interactive exchange of ideas. As Paulo Freire describes in Pedagogy of the Oppressed, turn students from passive consumers to active participants. Teachers too, become interactive parts of the whole, as we shift from an emphasis on “prep” to “presence” as adrienne maree brown writes in Emergent Strategy. In this process, we are student just as much as we are teacher — the binary erodes and we all benefit from the added complexity.

Outdoor education requires unique attention to positionality. Being in deep connection with the natural world is a gift so many in our society are barred from experiencing, thanks to interlocking and ongoing processes of forced removal and settler colonial occupation, rabid industrialization and sprawling urbanization, privatization of land and environmental resources, environmental racism, redlining and inequitable urban planning, and failing resource management. Those of us who are lucky enough to be able to access the land and more-than-human community spaces during our teaching have an obligation to teach about the power dynamics inherently present in us using the land (at the very least, this should mean a substantive land acknowledgement). If we as teachers (especially those of us coming from privileged backgrounds and identities) are not cognizant of our positionality, we fail to challenge the dynamics that make exploitation of land and natural resources so commonplace and human disconnection from the environment the norm. Instead, we should lead with a conversation about access, power, privilege, and the responsibility we all hold to change systems rooted deeply in oppression and create more accessible visions for the future.

I witnessed this during our camp as we talked openly about the Indigenous tribes whose ancestral land this mountain occupies and O’odham origin stories. We also introduced them to the idea of environmental stewardship by reading Robin Wall Kimmerer’s “Honorable Harvest” in a discussion that complicated the Leave No Trace principles by considering how our interactions with the environment doesn’t necessarily have to be extractive and exploitative.

Where we failed to address positionality but could have is talking openly about running into two border crossers and what that means. A counselor ran into the migrants at night while all the campers were asleep so it was easy to act like nothing happened. But we were camping on land that holds many legacies and discussing this openly is vital to knowing how to engage in our world ethically. We chose not to bring it up given time constraints, but next time I would have liked to have that conversation. They are not “too young”; “protecting” them from this truth isn’t helping them.

Make space for mindfulness and breath. Taking the time to be with our breath and engage our senses in educational settings reminds us that we are embodied creatures that experience the world in ways beyond intellectual understanding. This appreciation for our holistic experience of the world is needed and so valuable as we strive to be in better connection with each other, ourselves, and the world around us. When given the chance to reconnect with our breath, tune in to our bodily sensations, and be mindfully aware of our surrounding environment, we are able to be more fully present and grounded, making space for deeper connections. Imagine if instead of getting into trouble if we have to eat or sleep or go to the bathroom during class (i.e. meet our literal physical needs), our educational institutions invited us to show up as fully as we could be and made accommodations that allowed us to be more present and show up more fully to the learning community. Imagine if we normalized checking in with our bodies so that they are working with us instead of distracting us in our learning…

We encouraged this type of mindfulness through the exercise of “Solo Sits” on our final day of camp, in which each camper chose their own special spot in the woods where they would sit for 15–20 minutes and focus on their own experience of their body and the ecosystem around them. I invited them to pay greater attention to the environment, internal and external, and shift from “moving through” to “moving into” a space. If they felt distracted, I encouraged them to just focus on breathing deeply and paying attention to the sensations that they were feeling — the smells, the sights, the sounds. Every time we did this and came back together as a group, the energy was noticeably different. Everyone was calmer, more grounded, more aware, and more willing to listen to each other. Campers described in detail the smallest of things in the most beautiful ways and deep emotional reflections. I encouraged them to hold on to this place of calm as they returned to the “real world” and remember that they can access their breath at any time.

In future settings with older kids, I would love to hold more space for a discussion about barriers to accessing this sense of calm and breath in our world and what this means about our world and place in it. Why is it so hard to find peace of mind? What factors prevent us from accessing that in our daily lives? Is it easier for certain people to find breath than others (thinking here about the BLM protest chant “I can’t breath”)? Why? How might we change that?

Art and creativity are a must! When we engage the parts of our brains that create art and imagine and dream, we become more innovative and creative problem-solvers and world-builders. We also have fun, relax, and see hidden talents emerge. In addition, for students who struggle with social anxiety or are fidgety while sitting still, being semi-occupied by having something to do with their hands opens up greater space for conversation in a way that is not forced but natural and soothing. Art and creativity can take so many forms and I am convinced there is always a way to integrate it into teaching, no matter the subject area or age.

At camp, we explored art and creativity in four main activities: making and collaging a DIY paper bag journal, making friendship and paracord bracelets, a wilderness fashion show (where they used materials in the woods to create outfits and presented them on the trail “runway”), and a “museum tour” (groups were prompted to curate a museum “exhibit” about anything they wanted using materials in the woods and then present it to the counselors as an experience). Throughout the activities, we engaged in creative writing, collaging, weaving, drawing, building, singing, improv performance, and more in a way that encouraged silliness and celebration of beauty. It was a joy to experience and a door to explore sides of our campers we had never seen before.

Nature teaches our lessons if we only pay attention. We have long been told that development and progress moves us farther from the land, but those of us who are lucky enough to work with the land regularly know the wisdom contained in the soil and ecosystems around, below, and above us. We know that there is no limit to what we are discovering about the ecosystems we are part of and boundless lessons to learn if we only pay attention and listen long and hard enough. What if as teachers, we saw nature as a teacher alongside the scholars we cite and the books we read. What if we reconnected with the ancient understanding that wisdom is present already and it is our job to pay attention. What if we learned from the world how to be human (Kimmerer, Braiding Sweetgrass: 205)? If we did so, what might that teach us about conservation of resources, preservation of our innate connection with nature, and fundamentally what it looks like to learn?