Confronting Racism in Education: Insights from Eve L. Ewing’s Powerful Challenge

Eve L. Ewing sees herself as a “school person.” In her book, Original Sins: The (Mis)education of Black and Native Children and the Construction of American Racism, she explores how systemic bias has shaped the American education system. Ewing argues that schools have historically favored white students over Black and Indigenous children. Her goal is to prompt readers to face this harsh reality and think about what schools could truly be.

Why was it so important for you to write this book?

Growing up in Chicago Public Schools, I noticed early on how obvious and unfair racial dynamics can be. They often show themselves in ways that feel illogical. As I trained to become a teacher, I learned more about the history of education for Indigenous and formerly enslaved people. It was shocking to discover explicit statements about using education as a weapon against Native peoples. On the flip side, I also learned about how Black people championed universal public education during the Reconstruction era. This duality struck me: schools can be places of empowerment but also tools for oppression. I had been piecing together readings for my students about these ideas and kept asking, “Where’s the book that pulls all this together?” Eventually, I knew I needed to write it myself.

“Schools are not bystanders in the project of racial capitalism and genocide in the United States; they have been laboratories where those ideas were honed, normalized, and perfected.”

You highlight the nurturing role of schools but also discuss their damaging legacy. How do you reconcile these two aspects?

Even after exploring the darker history of schools in my book, I still view myself as a “school person.” I see their potential as places of creativity and community. Schools can foster joy and connection. The real question is: How do we reimagine these spaces?

You mention a “smog” that has clouded our understanding of how schools mistreat Black and Native children. Why is it crucial to clarify this history?

These conversations are urgent. Schools are not neutral; they have been places where harmful ideas about race have been developed and accepted. Correcting the historical record allows us to understand what we are truly fighting against. This book aims to provide clear evidence for those who care about justice and want to examine how schools can perpetuate harm.

With the current political battles over teaching history in schools, how do you prepare for criticism of your work?

My experience has made me resilient to unproductive criticism. I think about what Toni Morrison taught us: distractions from the real work. I prefer to engage in meaningful discussions with those who share a love for children and education. That’s where the real conversation happens; the noise doesn’t concern me.

You’re not offering a how-to guide for fixing schools but hoping to spark discussion. What do you envision a “good school” looks like?

A good school should inspire imagination, joy, and growth—intellectually and ethically. It should nurture both students and the wider community. This doesn’t have a one-size-fits-all answer; it could involve outdoor learning, mixed-age classrooms, or blurring the lines between teachers and learners. Each community will shape its ideal school differently.

What message do you want to convey to educators or those involved in child education?

I want them to cultivate curiosity about the environments they create. It’s essential to question the routines we accept without thinking. How do those practices connect to our history? Where can we be inventive and make changes? This isn’t about a checklist; it’s about deep, open-ended inquiry and collective efforts toward equity and joy. I am excited by the ongoing reinvention happening in education.

“But No Poetry”

Original Sins begins with Ewing examining how flawed visions shaped schooling along racial lines.

How does it feel to be a problem?

W.E.B. Du Bois asked this question in 1903, and it resonates deeply with me. I often recall a line from Thomas Jefferson’s Notes on the State of Virginia: “Among the blacks is misery enough, God knows, but no poetry.”

This quote is striking. It sends me back to my experiences and the rich legacy of Black poets who have influenced me. During a school trip to Monticello as a child, I noticed that we never discussed this perspective. Throughout my education, the aspects of Jefferson’s legacy that were celebrated often ignored these deeper truths.