What does it mean to "care" for students?
Authentic Cariño as a Practice
Growing up, I moved in and out of many classrooms, in many different systems, in several states, and with varying levels of enthusiasm for what I was being taught. Here and there, along a less-than-linear mix of formal and informal schooling, I would occasionally encounter beautiful human beings—teachers—who I knew truly cared about me. I was never the best student in class, never the loudest, never the one you’d notice for any reason in particular. Solidly middling (which, in hindsight, was more strategy than happenstance). But, somehow, a handful of adults saw something in me.
I know not everyone is so lucky. But, if you are fortunate enough to remember a “favorite” teacher it is likely because they cared. There is a particular kind of relational magic that can forever live in the souls of students, a memory of competence, of belonging. These teachers practice an alchemy that transforms academic content into play, connection, craft, and meaning. And, in the process, they create lasting impressions for the students who never forget them. As James P. Cormer famously put it, “No significant learning occurs without a significant relationship.” So “care” is an important, even foundational, prerequisite for teaching and learning anything. But “care” is not always so simple.
“Caring” can be interpreted in many ways by educators. Many destructive policies in public education—from American Indian boarding schools to English-only mandates, to book bans and school hair policies—have been framed as “caring” for the future of children and young people. Angela Valenzuela, in Subtractive Schooling, rightly names that there are two ways of caring for students, one in which their culture and community are affirmed as important (both individually and in a pluralistic society) or caring that can serve to “socially de-capitalize” students, utterly divorcing them from their identities, languages, their ancestors, and their true and complete histories.
Formal education can be the site of so much loss—cultural customs, home languages, yes, and also the wonder of discovery and learning itself. This is because so many teachers only “aesthetically care” (to use another of Valenzuela’s terms). They communicate to their students: care about the subject I am teaching, my discipline, and then I will care about you. When, conversely, so many students communicate—usually in action rather than words—care about me, and then I will come to care about the subject you are trying to teach me. This disconnect, this misalignment of caring, is often the headwater of ongoing conflict-currents that can last all year, and make the classroom a miserable place to be.
The type of care that students actually need has been called many things—authoritative teaching, nurturing pedagogy, warmly demanding practice—but my preferred term is “authentic cariño.” The Spanish term “cariño” stands apart from “care” in that it recognizes the cultural and political dimensions of caring; it is a care that is familial, intellectual and socio-political all at once. Though it includes “culturally relevant” curriculum, it goes beyond this. To transform students’ lives, it is important to acknowledge the contexts which they are coming of age in. Not only to acknowledge the world they live in, but to help them make successful transitions from childhood to adulthood. Creating rituals, rites of passage and culturally-affirming traditions within school systems are important aspects of cultivating a spirit of “authentic cariño.”
I believe there are many ways to incorporate this practice with students of all ages—after all, no matter where we are in life, we are always “coming of age.” And, at a time when both public school systems and higher education institutions have to vociferously argue their relevance, we must continually revisit the question of what it means to truly care about students, and especially those from marginalized communities. Education is relational, political, and social. For this reason, it is important to raise the question of “personal willingness” teachers have to engage in the work of dismantling oppressive systems. What do we—who have largely benefitted from this system—owe our students?
3 Things Newly Noted
I visited the newest independent bookstore in town: First Light Books. It’s a chocolate box of shop, lovingly curated, and was absoluetly hopping on a weekday afternoon. Highly recommend.
I’m starting to gather some thoughts about how to leverage AI chatbots in curricula, especially in the writing classroom; Minerva Project’s “Key Strategies” and OpenAI’s recently published guide are helpful sources at this particular moment in time.
Am in the midst of final edits on an upcoming anthology (out next month!) and have been enamored by the work of the Wollutuka Institute, and, in particular the workshop approach described in one of the chapters of the forthcoming book (I will link it back here once out :)
See you next Friday!
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