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Marxist

Pedagogy of the Oppressed / Paolo Friere / 1968

Many professors and ethnic studies students are at least aware of Pedagogy of the Oppressed and many have at least read chapter 2, which distinguishes the vertical banking method of education from a horizontal dialogic one. I decided to read the whole book because Ceiba Collective wanted to begin doing study groups and the committee decided a leftist book on pedagogy felt like a good place to start. I’m grateful I read the whole book, especially because of chapters 3 and 4, which argue that dialogic problem-based education is essential for revolutionary struggle. Everywhere you see liberals and the left talking about the desperate need for better messaging, sloganeering, etc. Friere would argue they’re doomed if they simply play the same game of the right, manipulating the masses and treating them as incapable of building solutions to their own problems. Friere argued for the need for dialogic problem-based education through every level of the revolution, building a strategy for struggle alongside the working masses. This is critical, because if we only win through messaging, every victory of the left will be short-lived as the masses will not have developed the critical thinking skills to see through the lies of their enemies. For me, this is the most interesting part of his argument, and worth debate in leftist organizations.

Pedagogy of the Oppressed was specifically used to develop popular education with illiterate folks meant to organize them in defense of their community. Friere’s method was used widely throughout the world and in particular Central America during their revolutionary struggle in the last half of the twentieth century. At the same time, Friere’s advocacy for education also meant that his work was used to construct systems of mass education, which despite Freire’s advocacy for a revolutionary method, still served ultimately as a force to colonize the poor and indigenous, disrupt their ways of life in service of an education that frequently ill-prepared them for the challenges of their community. Gustavo Esteva is especially critical of Friere on this part, although his criticism is laden with the worst types of decolonial nonsense, such as arguing that illiteracy should be celebrated and cherished, as if many colonized people, including First Nations peoples throughout the Americas, didn’t have sophisticated reading systems prior to colonization.  4 out of 5. 

America is in the Heart / Carlos Bulosan / 1943

America is in the Heart / Carlos Bulosan / 1943

Written at breakneck speed, Bulosan narrates his life of poverty in the Philippines, his migration to the US, and his life of poverty and discrimination throughout the West. The narrator writes as if being chased in a way that reminds me Stephen Crane or Charles Dickens’ realism, except that in Bulosan this realism doesn’t feel voyeuristic. It’s actually lived and vomited from his gut. The voice reads not like a sensationalist journalist account of poverty, but of an aspiring young author who hasn’t found distance from his own pain because he never had stability to fully process. Even so, what Bulosan manages to capture with softness and tenderness is incredible. The amount of violence and cruelty intrinsic to Asian and immigrant life in this time period are crushing to read, whether Bulosan in narrating the misogynistic marital rituals of his hometown or describing racial terror he sometimes failed to flee with his comrades. 

America is in the Heart also narrates one generation’s communist dreams and it was insightful to hear how consciousness grew in Bulosan and the ways it was subsequently crushed by state actors. Throughout the years, I’ve realized that so much of the canon of color’s literary tradition is left-wing in a way that isn’t talked about in academia and unknown in many radical literary spaces. I prize this communist literature, including Bulosan, as part of a tradition that has been repressed in the US, as part of a tradition that I identify with. 

America is in the Heart ends with a romantic love letter to America. Bulosan, for some reason, could never abandon its promise. It read to me as Stockholm Syndrome, as a Sunken Costs fallacy, but I imagine that fans of the American Dream will find a flag to wave in its closing paragraphs. The closing paragraphs. hits the same ache as “My Man” by Billie Holiday for me. I mourn Bulosan’s tragic and stupid love for a country that will never love him back. I wish him a better dream. 4.8/5