Adult Education Quarterly http://aeq.sagepub.com/ Classrooms of Spatial Justice: Counter-Spaces and Young Men of Color in a GED Program Joni Schwartz Adult Education Quarterly 2014 64: 110 originally published online 3 December 2013 DOI: 10.1177/0741713613513632 The online version of this article can be found at: http://aeq.sagepub.com/content/64/2/110 Published by: http://www.sagepublications.com On behalf of: American Association for Adult and Continuing Education Additional services and information for Adult Education Quarterly can be found at: Email Alerts: http://aeq.sagepub.com/cgi/alerts Subscriptions: http://aeq.sagepub.com/subscriptions Reprints: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsReprints.nav Permissions: http://www.sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav >> Version of Record - Apr 11, 2014 OnlineFirst Version of Record - Dec 3, 2013 What is This? Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 513632 AEQXXX10.1177/0741713613513632Adult Education QuarterlySchwartz research-article2013 Article Classrooms of Spatial Justice: Counter-Spaces and Young Men of Color in a GED Program Adult Education Quarterly 2014, Vol. 64(2) 110–127 © The Author(s) 2013 Reprints and permissions: sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav DOI: 10.1177/0741713613513632 aeq.sagepub.com Joni Schwartz1 Abstract This article, based on an ethnographic study of an urban General Education Development (GED) program, suggests that for some marginalized young men of color, Adult education programs are counter-spaces of spatial justice in opposition to previous negative school spaces. Framed by critical race theory (CRT) and drawing on critical geography and adult education literature on space and place, the author defines these counter-spaces through four dimensions: place, temporal, intrapersonal, and interpersonal, maintaining that they are not equivalent to activities or experiences although they may inhabit them. The article concludes with implications for the use of CRT in understanding GED as potential counter-space. Keywords GED, counter-space, young men of color, spatial justice High school noncompletion in America is a complex phenomenon with social, racial, and economic ramifications. Language often frames reality; therefore, what youth who leave school are called may reveal how high school noncompletion is understood and learning spaces reimagined. Commonly these youth are called high school dropouts with the implication that leaving school was their decision. Perhaps a more accurate term is pushout, with the implication that leaving school was at the hand of others. Tuck (2008) describes this distinction: 1City University of New York, NY, USA Corresponding Author: Joni Schwartz, Department of Humanities, La Guardia Community College, City University of New York, 31-10 Thomson Avenue, Long Island City, NY 11101, USA. Email: jschwartz@lagcc.cuny.edu, jonischwartz@yahoo.com Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 111 Schwartz Having listened to hundreds of stories of push out . . . for many former students, schools were sites of anxiety, depression and humiliation—their stories are not mere stories of push out, but squeezed, kicked, punched, sliced out. Cast out. (p. 128) This language accurately depicts many urban high schools and the toxic spaces they represent—spaces from which any reasonable person would flee. Although toxic for many students, Black and Latino males seem to be affected in larger proportions, with approximately 50% of them not finishing high school (Orfield, 2004). These low completion rates are an economic issue linked to unemployment and lifelong income, with ramifications for poverty, incarceration, health care, and a whole range of social concerns (Harrington, 2009). In this context, finishing high school is a social justice and civil rights concern. Many students progressed well academically in primary grades but found themselves pushed out of intellectually boring high schools (Bridgeland, Dilulio, & Morrison, 2006) that criminalize them (Nolan, 2008), and expose them to potential physical and emotional violence (Rich, 2009). This is experienced by the young men as a “new normal”—trauma in and around school that exposes them, on often a daily basis, to physical, emotional, and verbal assault by peers and school officials (Schwartz & Schwartz, 2012). With this understanding, leaving school was probably a smart decision. Healthy and smart people do not stay in toxic spaces that cause them harm. The study explores these toxic spaces and a General Education Development (GED) program that created counter-spaces in response, and suggests that for marginalized young men of color, adult education is potentially a counter-space (Yosso, Ceja, Smith, & Solorzano, 2009) for reengagement in learning and spatial justice . The first section of the article cites critical geography and adult education literature and differentiates the concepts of place and space then defines space, counter-space, and spatial justice. Once defined, the next section frames this work using critical race theory (CRT), describes the study design and findings, and concludes with discussion and implications. Defining Concepts Place and Space Critical geography conceptualizes place or space as geographic locations that profoundly affect people’s lived experiences culturally, socially, and economically. From a critical theory approach, the terms place and space are most often interchangeable, denoting geographic locations embedded in political ideologies around power and justice formed through historical and natural phenomena shaping their human inhabitants (Foucault, 1977, Gruenewald, 2003; Harvey, 1996; Lefebvre, 1976). For purposes of this study, place and space are differentiated. Place is defined as a physical and geographic location, in this case the physical construction of a classroom and proxemics of a GED program. Where place is in its origin geographic, space is conceptualized more broadly. Place is one dimension of space. Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 112 Adult Education Quarterly 64(2) Space Through their work on emotions in activism, the geographers Brown and Pickerill (2009) have conceptualized space as four interpenetrating dimensions—place, temporal, self, and interpersonal—which are sustaining spaces supporting social activists so that they can continue their work. Drawing on these conceptualizations, this study defines space within and without learners: place (physical settings), temporal (connection of present to history, social imagination), intrapersonal (self-reflection), and interpersonal (collective solidarity). Brown and Pickerill’s dimensions were chosen because they gave language to the divergent and complex spaces that emerged from the findings and included both affective and cognitive domains. Again, the first dimension place is physical. Temporal, the second dimension, is like sociological imagination, first defined by Mills (2000) as mental space where personal conflicts intersect with global or institutional contexts and where space is the connection between personal worlds and the “systems world (Habermas, 1989). Gouthro (2005) calls this temporal dimension “homeplace”—the space in our minds and lived experiences that are crucial to identity development as adult learners including past memories that affect present behaviors. Brown and Pickerill’s (2009) third dimension, “self,” this study calls intrapersonal, the engagement with one’s interior life. Palmer (1993) sees this engagement as emotional and spiritual established through silence and self-reflection, and Davidson (2010) understands this intrapersonal space to be present within the context of writing. The fourth dimension is the interpersonal—the community, solidarity—the social space. This is a space of collaborative learning, equalitarian discussion, listening (Brookfield, 1990), and potential emotional healing. Each of these dimensions will be further developed in this study’s findings. Spatial Justice For adult educators, the concepts of critical theory and social justice are not new, but an examination of spatialized critical theory that looks at how the organization of place and space support learning and communicate in just and unjust ways may be less explored (Gruenewald, 2003). The seminal work of Lefebvre (1976) situates space as a social and political product created by social formation and mental construction that involves “important issues around marginality and segregation” (Elden, 2004, p. 98). Power and equity are connected to the development and distribution of physical place, thereby embedding human societies in social justice struggles (Lefebvre, 1976). For Gruenewald, (2003), who integrates critical pedagogy with its sociological focus and place-based education with its ecological emphasis into a critical pedagogy of place, spatial justice is both decolonizing and reinhabiting. Critical geographers look at social justice through the language and lens of spatial justice. For bell hooks (1984), spatial justice is not primarily embedded in physical place, but instead is “that space of my theorizing” and being on the margins. It is not one of Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 113 Schwartz deprivation but a “space of resistance.” To “enter that space” is to choose resistance as a space of healing, creativity, and voice, even if that voice is a broken one (hooks, 1984). Not unlike hooks’s definition, spatial justice for this study is counter-space of a GED program that stands in opposition to previous spaces of oppression—in this instance public high school. Spatial justice strives to reinhabit and decolonize school space. Counter-Spaces, Critical Race Theory, and the GED Program Counter-space is a useful concept applied to the GED program of this study. It derives from CRT, which asserts that racism is endemic to American life (Dixson, 2007) and thereby endemic to one of the most public institutions—schools. Adult educators and critical race theorists see themselves transforming an inequitable educational system to one that contributes to the success of all people of color (Closson, 2010; LadsonBillings, 2005). In emphasizing the importance of the voices of people of color (Delgado & Stefancic, 2001), CRT centers on experiential knowledge through counterstorying (Solorzano, 1998). Counterstories, sometimes called counternarratives, give voice to the lived experiences of the marginalized. Counter-spaces are corollaries of counterstorying. Like this corollary, counter-spaces are an “other” and are “different from” institutionalized racist school spaces, which incorporate counterstories but are dimensionally larger. Often created in same race settings, counter-spaces affirm a marginalized group’s life and racial experiences (Solorzano, Ceja, & Yosso, 2000) and normally these same race groups are within majority “other” race settings. They can be physical places of meeting, or emotional spaces of voice, resistance, and healing. Carter (2007) calls these spaces “identity affirming counter-spaces” (p. 542) that are not interchangeable with activities, opportunity, or situations but are qualitatively different. The GED program with its multidimensional spaces of place, temporal, intrapersonal, and interpersonal is a type of counter-space because the participants are young men of color who came from schools predominantly of color within a “place,” the United States, where racial marginalizing is educationally institutionalized. As counter-space, the GED stands in opposition to previous public school toxic spaces. Study Design The research design is educational ethnography—an approach focusing on school culture as opposed to the individual student. Culture in this ethnography is defined as the GED program taking a broad ecological perspective to the research considering social, racial, and institutional, contexts (Ogbu, 1981). The design as well as being educational is reflexive ethnography (Bourdieu, 1990; Buroway, 2003). Reflexive ethnography “is an approach to participant observation that recognizes that we are part of the world we study and presumes an external real world, but it is one that we can only Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 114 Adult Education Quarterly 64(2) Table 1. Key Informants’ Description. Age, Race/ethnicity Time affiliated Key informantsa years (self-identified) with programb Javier 23 Shawn 19 Dustin 23 David 22 Jamal 24 Hispanic/ 1 year and 6 Puerto Rican months African 1 year and 10 American months Black/African 5 years American Italian-Sicilian/ 3 years Puerto RicanSpanish African 9 years American Educational status (at completion of study) Past/current obstacles to engagement(selfidentified) Passed GED/ Prison/drug use started college Passed GED/ Inappropriate special started college education placement/ drug use GED student Peer pressure/mother ill GED student Discrimination/bad schools/poverty Passed GED/ college graduate-AA degree Girlfriend pregnant/ peer pressure a. An additional 11 young men and 15 other stakeholders participated beyond key informants. See Schwartz (2010) for full description. b. Includes time spent attaining a GED and returning to tutor others or work in program. know through our constructed relation to it” (Buroway, 2003, p. 655). This has relation to the role of the principle investigator, who was the former director of the program and author of this article who secured research access and approval through the new director. The research question was, “How was space created (place—physical, temporal, intrapersonal, and interpersonal) in the GED program that supported 16- to 25-yearold, out-of-school males of color to engage in learning and pass the GED?” The research site was a northeastern urban nonprofit program serving 700 students annually in GED, English for Speakers of Other Languages, and Literacy classes. Of the 450 GED students, there was nearly an equal number of male and females. The site was chosen because of its large number of GED male students of color (n = 225), the success of some of these students to pass the GED, and relatively easy access to the program. Data collection focused on five key informants, Javier, Dustin, Jamal, David, and Shawn (Table 1) and 26 program stakeholders: administrators (n = 5), security (n = 2), tutors (n = 5), adult students (n = 3), and additional young men (n = 11). Selection criteria for the key informants were the following: males 16 to 25 years, people of color (self-identified), enrolled in program a minimum of 1 year with consistent attendance, and reading at the ninth-grade level or higher. Additional criteria included academic progress as measured by passing the GED or progress on a practice test. Stakeholders were selected on the basis of direct contact with 16- to 25-year-old men in the program. Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 115 Schwartz Data collection included 1-hour semistructured interviews (n = 15), 1½-hour focus groups (n = 7), 2-hour classroom observations (n = 8), key informant journals, memoing, and spatial mapping over 6 months. Interviews and observations were primary data collection methods. Secondary data collection included seven focus groups: two young male groups (16-25 years), one member-checking group including young males, three with other stakeholders—tutors, older students, staff, and administrators—and one “older” male group. Groups were composed of 5 to12 members and lasted between 1 and 2 hours. Audiotaped data and written field notes were manually transcribed, then analyzed and coded for emerging themes through clustering and further categorized into “bins” (Goetz & LeCompte, 1983). From this first stage, categories emerged, which were deposited into a matrix display (Miles & Huberman, 1984) using the constructivist cultural historical activity theory (CHAT) triangular framework (Engeström, Miettinen, & Punamäki, 1999; Leontev, 1978). An enumerative inquiry, a quasi-statistical approach using word frequency and classifying phrases/words by percentage use (Miles & Huberman, 1984), was further used to classify data for analysis in the CHAT matrix. CHAT was chosen as a methodological tool because it was consistent with CRT in that it takes a broad view of learning systems with the component parts of: tools and artifacts, activities, people, environments, rules, community, needs, and outcomes and how they operate together, or in contradiction, within the system and without the system to produce learning (Engeström et al., 1999). Four techniques ensured validity and reliability: triangulation, member checking, critical friends group, and memoing. Data collection triangulation was enacted by using multiple approaches and involving multiple participants filling a range of roles and angles of vision to the study (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). Methods triangulation included initial coding, interim analysis, text coding, visual displays, enumerative analysis, critical friends group, and member checking. The critical friends group included six persons of color: two teachers, one researcher, one doctoral student, and one personal friend who met with me three times for the purpose of “making privilege visible” and checking my assumptions and the findings against their own experiences (Delgado, 1995). This group read data transcripts and initial findings, checking my analysis in the light of their experience. The group assisted me in processing what I was hearing and provided emotional support as often the lived experiences that the young men related to me were painful to absorb. Along with a critical friends group, member checking was used in which participants reviewed data, and emerging themes to see if they accurately reflected their views (Lincoln & Guba, 1985). Key informants had an opportunity to review their interview transcripts individually and then meet as a group to react to the initial findings presented on PowerPoint. Feedback during member checking served to confirm that the men’s voices and views were accurately portrayed. As the principle investigator and the program’s previous White female director, I engaged in what I now know to be “reflexivities of discomfort” (Pillow, 2003) an ongoing grappling with how my position, my race, and my gender influenced the Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 116 Adult Education Quarterly 64(2) process. This position of power found me in a state of “uncomfortable reflexivity” (Pillow, 2003), forcing me to question and monitor myself consistently. In our research we have to continually question the capability of the subject to define her/ his self or even the desire of the subject to do so. Reflexivity then always occurs out of an unequal power relationship while at the same time attempting to mask this power over the subject. (Pillow, 2003, p. 185) My questioning was this: Am I getting the “[right] story from the individuals? (Wax, 1971). How are the participants represented? Whose story is told, and what is the role of interest convergence? (Bell, 1992). Even with the critical friends and member-checking groups, the process left and leaves me uncomfortable. As both Pillow (2003) and Visweswaran (1994) recognize, being “accountable to people’s struggles for self-presentation and self-determination” (Visweswaran, 1994, p. 32), “including our own selves . . . is not easy or comfortable work and thus should not be situated as such” (Pillow, 2003, p. 193). This positionality is viewed as both an asset and a limitation to this study. Findings Past Educational Space: A New Normal Analysis suggests a correlation between previous unjustly negative educational spaces and current GED engagement, identifying space as critical to reemergent learners. For the study participants, their previous schools were often unsafe, inappropriate, or unjust spaces marked by relentless potential violence, abuse, excessive rules, drab surroundings, and perceived ethics violations. At best, they were nondescript and unpleasant spaces where neither teachers nor students wanted to be. Yet these spaces were “normal” and what the young men expected from school. The paradoxical term new normal connotes that trauma around many urban high schools is routine, although understood by the young men as not right. The new suggests this may be a phenomenon unfamiliar to individuals unacquainted with urban education (Schwartz & Schwartz, 2012). Bullying, guns, gang fights, general chaos, and tension permeated many of their high schools, and the young men reported feeling unsafe physically and emotionally. Abuse ranged from mild teasing and bullying to physical violation, and from neglect to psychological mistreatment. These experiences are unique to young men of color in their frequency, persistency, level of violence, and relation to race. You know growing up it wasn’t like I wasn’t getting good grades. I was getting my work done. doing what I had to do, then they say sticks and stones may break my bones and words will never hurt you—that’s a lie. Words do hurt you . . . The fact that you walk into school knowing you are going to be bullied doesn’t give you an edge. As he stated, Travis experienced verbal abuse from peers everyday while adults in the schools were said to be unaware, unwilling, or unable to stop it. Strategies of Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 117 Schwartz responding to verbal abuse varied among the participants, but no one denied its prevalence. Beyond the verbal were incidents of physical violence and the not atypical transferring to new schools for physical safety described by Kevin: You try to learn but then kids are over there fighting in the classroom and they [school officials] want to suspend you for a day or two. I can say the system don’t care. I could defend myself. But at the same time I don’t want to get in trouble . . . kids could come in class and hit me so I had to make a safety transfer to go to the next school. Then when I went to the next school, it seems like everything is starting all over again . . . it’s better if I drop out. Jason’s words sum up their sentiment: It [public school] wasn’t a safe environment for me. Nothing safe about it. In addition to safety, inappropriate instruction and placement of students was reported. A case in point is Shawn who was raised by his grandmother. Shawn enjoyed elementary school and did well. However, in junior high he was placed in special education. When asked why, he explained, Because I was bad, I guess. That’s when everybody was going to special education. It was like; let’s put this kid in special education because that is more money for the school, . . . I was smarter than everyone in the class. I was getting As and Bs but I was told it was because of my behavior, OK? In an angry tone, Shawn described this placement, and its consequences connecting them to dropping out and drug use. Since I was in special education, I dropped out. I started special education in the middle of 7th grade. Ever since I was in special education, I didn’t like school. I stopped learning . . . I got discouraged when I would see the other students in regular education. They were talking about homework, and their homework is harder than mine . . . and I just got discouraged. Shawn thought school would be better when he started high school because he could return to regular classes. He explained that his grandmother tried to intervene on his behalf, but she believed the school officials when they said special education would continue to be best. Shawn reported that many of his male friends also were placed in special education. This is consistent with the U.S. Commission on Civil Rights: Minorities in Special Education 2009 Report that states that young Black and Hispanic males continue to be placed in special education at a disproportionately higher rate than the overall school population. At least four of the young men, including one of the key informants, had been placed in special education and spoke extensively about it. It could be argued from their performance in this GED program Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 118 Adult Education Quarterly 64(2) that these were inappropriate placements; often high-functioning Black and Hispanic students are placed because of behavior not academic ability. Samson, now a GED graduate in college reports, I remember in fourth grade . . . I was in regular education, then I went to special education. They gave me the whole weeks’ worth of work. I did it in one day . . . . You know what’s crazy? They only put you in special education for your behavior. They pick all the bad students, especially in junior high . . . especially if your parents don’t know any better. In addition to the injustice of inappropriate placements, data indicated ineffective teaching methods, out-of-date textbooks, and rundown facilities with defects ranging from broken toilets, chipping paint, leaking ceilings, lack of equipment, and cracked blackboards with no chalk. David said that “maybe it was a conspiracy” or “intentional” that they were given such substandard facilities compared to schools with more Whites. David went on to relate an incident that he perceived as unethical when attending a predominantly Black high school. Being of Italian and Puerto Rican background, he stated that he was given preferential treatment by his Italian teachers. He referred frequently to being the recipient of passing grades when not deserved, extra attention and the bending of rules to his benefit. This angered him. At the end of one school year [May] when I quit school and was a manager [at a store]. I got a call from a teacher “just come back.” I just hated his calling and saying he would pass me. It was just crazy. And that’s the God’s honest truth. David called this “injustice of his high school” even though it appeared to favor him; he experienced this as White privilege and refused to accept a high school diploma. Like David, Jamal experienced what he called injustice, which disengaged him so that he did not identify as a learner. Now having passed the GED and attending college, he realizes that people often looked at him only as a potential basketball player. I realize how some people look at a Black person and realize he is just here for his jump shot . . . I got this scholarship and I am going to run with it. But that really made me realize . . . get down in the books ’cause everybody do think you just here ’cause you can play basketball. The participants of this study almost unanimously concurred that their past educational spaces were physically and emotionally unsafe, unchallenging, and latent with injustice but accepted this as the way school is—a new normal (Schwartz & Schwartz, 2012). Counter-Space Data analysis further suggested that the GED program created multidimensional spaces antithetical to past schools—counter-spaces. To be clear, the key informants did not use the term counter-spaces but reported that the GED program “looked and Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 119 Schwartz felt different,” making room for affective and reciprocal relationships that stood counter to other spaces in their lives. I mean when my group happens—I love it! I ain’t got no feeling like that in my world. When somebody actually comes to me and says help me with this and I help them and they walk off with it. That makes me feel good; that’s how I engage in more learning . . . I’m learning more of it by teaching them. (Jamal) Like Jamal, Javier after completing his GED returned to the program to tutor others and was overheard saying with a huge grin on his face, “Welcome to my world.” Dimension 1: Place. The first dimension is the physical layout, including the dimensions, exits, open as opposed to closed classrooms, and furniture arrangement. The program was housed in two large gymnasium-like rooms (approx. 50’ × 84’ × 20’ each) on the second floor of a newly renovated six-story office building located in a commercial business district steps away from 14 subways; 20 bus lines; 7 courts; 51 city, state, and federal agencies; 75 restaurants, and 3 colleges. On entering the building, there was a beautiful lobby and there were renovated bathrooms as well as both stairs and elevator. The open “classrooms” were frequently mentioned by the young men as physical spaces of safety, safe from violence, and nonthreatening. The space felt comfortable and free for movement—unconfined and not cramped. It is 6:15 p.m. in the large, spacious, gymlike room with no windows and high ceilings. Students and tutors walk freely among the tables clustered around the room in separate groupings. Dustin enters . . . and scopes the space with his eyes, then walks to his group in the back of the room, sitting in a seat with his back to the wall and takes one more look around the expanse of the room. Dustin’s initial “scoping” of the room was repeated in the behavior of others. Javier said that this physical space allowed him to see what was going on, and this vision brought a feeling of safety being able to “eye” the three exits with wide doors for easy egress. Even though they did not report feeling threatened in the program, experiences they reported outside the center and in the past could account for this reported caution. David described the contrast with traditional classrooms. Yeah. I feel comfortable here. It’s not like this is all you have . . . you’re [not] isolated in this room, like a basic classroom—you don’t feel like this is it. Like when you are in this big room you see everything. You feel open . . . not boxed in. Within this large open classroom, 8 to 12 small learning groups met. They functioned as small “rooms” without walls within a larger space. Each group met around one rectangular or round table with no physical separation between tables, yet the small groups were self-contained. There could be as many as 12 groups with 12 different activities going on. Key informants spoke about “my group,” “my corner,” or “my space.” This territoriality and ‘“family” ownership was explained by Jamal. Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 120 Adult Education Quarterly 64(2) The group is like your family. You feel comfortable so if they are learning more and progressing you are going to want to learn ’cause that’s your group. That’s who I am with, my group. We do it as a group . . . the sectioning off of groups is very important. This small-group activity is in contrast to traditional classrooms of 25 to 30 students with rows and desks in enclosed classrooms. This counter-space was intimate, manageable, and predictable, small enough for personal relationships but within a large place making it feel safe. Dimension 2:Temporal. Temporal space is not physical but mental and emotional space where connections are made between the present and history. It is a space of intergenerational knowledge and voice. Mills (2000) calls this space the social imagination where an individual’s problems are understood in relation to larger social and economic contexts. Kevin then Shawn entered a temporal counter-space while reading and discussing about physical slavery connecting it to current mental slavery precipitated by school resegregation, inequality of educational opportunity, and mass incarceration of Blacks. It’s sort of like slavery was more physical, more hands on back then, I feel like it’s more of a mental thing like a certain mindset [about our ability to learn]. It is a whole system set up for failure . . . in the streets police target all the Blacks. Most of the time . . . there’s these cops around and you’re just walking. They’ll most likely bother you . . . So I feel like it’s not even the teachers; it’s the people higher than that, like the government setting it up for Blacks to fail. Although accepting responsibility for their own contributing behaviors, group members were invigorated when reflecting on the possibility that their own school failure may have been part of a larger systemic failure. This dimension of counter-space was observed when Jamal, a former GED student, now tutor, discussed and learned about the Civil War from the family history of an older Black man in his group. Jamal connected personal experiences of racism to the context of American history. Like this man Mr. N. He’s done a lot in his life so I had an American history book from college . . . He said, Jamal, you are doing the Civil War? And I said, yeah . . . then he gave me a story he heard from his great-grandfather who was actually alive then and fought, that [story] made things come together. Mr. N’s counternarrative opened up “spaces” in Jamal’s intergenerational group to discuss historical racism and its continuing impact. Writing Forums, time for reflective writing, provided additional temporal space for David to grapple with issues of institutionalized racism and pushouts. Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 121 Schwartz Our system is set up to keep people down. They [government] want a dumb race of people to keep control. There needs to be bad people so that money can be made from our prisons. We need janitors and McDonald’s workers . . . that is how the school system is set up. They [system] . . . want a 50% dropout rate. This temporal dimension, which was observed as the social imagination at work, opens spaces for voice where for too long, schools have silenced these voices. bell hooks (1994) affirms this observation writing that there needs to be a “recognition of the uniqueness of each voice and a willingness to create spaces in classrooms where all voices can be heard because all students are free to speak, knowing their presence will be recognized and valued” (p. 186). The GED program created spaces for these “voices from the margins.” These counter-spaces began in each small group, and then center-wide in strategic planning groups, student advisory council, essay contests, and panels on poverty and racism. Monica, a GED graduate turned tutor, explains, If there is no interaction, no give and take, no sharing . . . I think what brought them to that [dropping out] is that the students didn’t have a voice and because of that there is no engagement. Participants spoke about discrimination and inequality on the job, in public places, in the church, and why discussions of race were crucial. Their perspective was that there were few spaces to talk honestly about the “hard issues.” Charles, a tutor, articulates, Wherever you go in an educational center, race should be addressed . . . it is a reality everyone tries to avoid. It is unpleasant or uncomfortable for some people to talk about race relations, how race plays out and how things are done. It definitely plays out ’cause it sends a negative message to these young men that this is another place of racism [if it is not discussed openly]. Marlon, a student, further explains, Yes, you are Black and you are starting the race from somewhere in the back. It’s fact; race does play an issue in American society because it was never fully addressed. Dimension 3: Intrapersonal. Beyond place and temporal, the third dimension of counterspace was intrapersonal, space for self-reflection and healing. Zembylas (2008) describes this intrapersonal dimension as critical emotional reflexivity. For the young men, a favorite internal “space” was the silence during reading and writing providing solitude not present in previous schools, their homes, or their neighborhoods. Previous schools were described as noisy, chaotic, and full of talk; the men appreciated spaces to be quiet, to think, and to feel. They reported initially feeling uncomfortable sitting through these silent spaces, feeling restless until becoming accustomed to them. One space for silence consistently mentioned was the 30 minutes of sustained silent reading (SSR) during each class. SSR is not unusual to K–12, but it may be more unique to adult education. A fieldwork observation: Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 122 Adult Education Quarterly 64(2) “Take out your favorite book, sit back, relax and begin reading,” a voice from the microphone announces. David takes out a paperback with no cover; he reads with his tutor and 50 other students for 30 minutes—no moving, in complete silence. Javier described this counter-space: I’m the type of person who likes peace and quiet environments. It [silent reading] gives me a sense of relaxation . . . where I can focus my mind . . . It feels different . . . peaceful. The participants reported SSR as a primary space that engaged them in reading because quiet was so rare in their lives—separated from cell phones, texting, and talk, this counter-space was in contrast to their noisy exterior and interior “worlds” and made room for self-reflection. The intrapersonal dimension also provides space for healing. Safe means free from physical and emotional harm or potential violence, but healing is a place where residue rises to the surface from past painful experiences where it can then be addressed. According to John Rich (2009), we have “underestimated” the impact that all types of violence in and out of school have, and the “persistent psychological wounds” they cause (p. 12) to men in our inner cities. Wounded individuals full of fear of failure and carrying unresolved pain cannot concentrate on a GED until healing is addressed (Schwartz & Schwartz, 2012). Anthony then Mason’s comments are representative. You know students over here want to learn, but they got so much problems in their heart but they can’t learn because they are focusing on that one particular thing [hurt]. These guys they put on like this front. I think that sometimes they don’t want to seem soft. They don’t want to seem like I can’t do this on my own, whatever, but deep down inside they are really, really hurting. This intrapersonal dimension was also created through writing. There were 20 minutes of writing per day in the small groups, space provided for improving writing skills, and writing for healing. Often these spaces were guarded with silence since writing creates space to say what might not be said verbally. Writing seems a less risky initial approach to sharing pain—an opportunity to get the pain on paper, examine, share, and sometimes ease it. Andrew articulated, I think that whenever you write, you get most of your feelings out, most of your emotions, and rather than speaking them out loud [writing] is another way of “speaking” your pain. The following journal entry by Keton, and poem by Brian, illustrates expressions of hardship and invisibility through writing. I grew up in an unstable household. My pops was always locked up, and my moms was never around. So I grew up learning to take care of myself and go to school. I had to try to make money and get good grades, but people don’t seem to see how hard that is. Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 123 Schwartz Gone through some pain Trials and tribulations To find God’s plan Do you know how it feels in the Heart of a man? Nothing easy in life Climbed the highest mountains To seek God’s plans Do you know how it feels in the Heart of a man? Quiet reading and writing were counter-spaces that intentionally made room for expression of pain, facilitated healing, and made reengagement in learning easier— silent spaces for thinking and feeling. Dimension 4: Interpersonal. Interpersonal space is collective solidarity and communality. The program’s instructional small groups were either all male or mixed gender and usually multigenerational. Javier contrasted this interpersonal dimension with his previous experiences. Teachers here [GED] get you and the whole group involved with working together and speaking. Whereas if you speak in regular [public] schools, it’s “Be quiet you can’t be talking.” “Knees-knocking” was a counter-space exemplifying the interpersonal dimension. Knees-knocking is a term used for writing shares where both tutors and students read their writing, received peer feedback, and frequently shared pain. Participation was voluntary, usually including approximately five students with a tutor sitting in a circle. The space is guarded; meaning that once the group starts no one new could enter. Total respect for the reader, who reads his writing to the others, was expected, and responding to the content of the writing was primary. Field note: Six young men sit in a circle of chairs with their knees almost touching. Justice reads his personal narrative. The others listening, bending into the center trying to catch every word. The piece is about a friend’s betrayal and brutal gang initiation. Fortunately, the beating was intercepted, and the writer got away with minor bruises. Yet the emotional trauma was evident. Once the writer finished reading, someone whispered, “That’s OK, man, it happens to the best of us.” The others nodded in agreement. The goal was to acknowledge the writer’s experience, affirm his voice, and assist him to move forward through his pain and develop as a writer. This circle provides freedom to share because the students are emotionally safe—free from judgment, ridicule, and embarrassment. Students’ pain is taken seriously. These spaces are Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 124 Adult Education Quarterly 64(2) explicitly not therapy; however, they are palliative and serve a therapeutic purpose. Jamal’s words: If you have somebody from the streets, you need someone to listen. This is what I do. You feel [pain] because this is where I came from, and are you going to judge him? If you listen [in the group] he is going to feel comfortable and then everything will be alright. David talked explained how the groups take down barriers, making the “walls come down” between people because they are physically and emotionally close, helping fostering self-reflection. Certain people have space [around them]. That whole space thing just fails. . . . You come in and be close to the person despite how they feel. They feel insecure about this. . . . You have to tough it [out] . . . because this is knees-knocking and when there is knees knocking you come in close and talk. You feel better as a person when you do. . . . Walls are no longer there . . . I like knees-knocking . . . It teaches you about yourself. The close proximity of participants aids communication and intimacy. David reported that this feels risky, but you have to “tough it out.” Sometimes others shared similar pain, and then the pain was normalized. The four dimensions of space: place, temporal, intrapersonal, and interpersonal were distinct yet sometimes overlapped and were interrelated, but the defining characteristic that made these spaces all counter was the overwhelming sense of spatial justice. Final Thoughts and Implications The GED is an underresearched feature of the American education even within the adult education community, and young men of color in GED seem overlooked. Therefore, in some small way this article addresses this underrepresentation by examining one GED program as counter-space showing what that “feels,” “looks,” and “acts” like from multiple dimensions and in the voices of the young men who claimed the spaces. These counter-spaces described are neither “soft” nor antithetical to academic rigor; in practice, these spaces demand risk, courage, and skill in their planning, implementation, and follow-through. They demand thinking “hard” about the kind of effective and humane educational climates we want. They lay the groundwork for intellectual challenge, deep reflection, and clear and content-rich curriculum and are not inconsistent with test-taking preparation. Critical thinkers, strong writers, and avid readers make good candidates for the GED exam. CRT was crucial in positioning the GED as counter to public school and placing race as an unavoidable component in any discussion. Tuck (2012), among others argues, that the GED is a type of repatriation. Using indigenous decolonizing theory, she “describes the ways in which pushed-out youth pursue the GED as acts of Downloaded from aeq.sagepub.com by guest on April 11, 2014 125 Schwartz repatriating their learning, and in doing so, repatriate the value of the GED” (p. 15). In the context of this article, CRT positions the GED and GED programs as potentially not “second chances” but valid choices and as such counter-space to high school. Through the lens of CRT, participants in this study saw the GED not from a deficit perspective but from a space of resistance, thereby redeeming the value of the GED. In fact, CRT does not recognize students as victims or “dropouts” but celebrates the resilience of students of color (Minikel-Lacocque, 2013) and focuses on the redressing of injustice both social and spatial. In this spirit, Javier, Dustin, Jamal, David, and Shawn were in a sense coresearchers, although not officially so, and they asked, “How can we get the word out? How can we let people know what’s up? This article represents one small attempt to say “What’s up?” Despite our deeply marred American education system, these men still care deeply about education and made responsible choices in pursuing the GED. For adult educators, focusing less on the “dropout” and more on reimaging multidimensional spaces counter to those that “pushed” them out is both efficacious and just. Acknowledgments I owe a special debt of gratitude to Jamal, David, Dustin, Javier, and Shawn for the sacrifice of their time and wisdom to this study. In addition to these five key informants, the other young men of this study were honest, brilliant, and insightful. Their affection and friendship will stay with me a lifetime and continue to influence my work in the future. To them, I promise not to forget their stories, or the issues of marginalization they have so candidly raised. Author’s Note Previously presented at the American Education Research Association National Conference 2010 in Denver, Colorado, and the National Communication Association Conference (2013) in Washington, D.C. Declaration of Conflicting Interests The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interest with respect to the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. Funding The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship, and/or publication of this article. 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