Repositioning childhood lived experiences within adult contexts: A Black feminist analysis of childhood/s regulation in early childhood care and education

Abstract

Children have been governed within early childhood care and education in ways that would be heavily scrutinized if the same situations occurred within adult contexts. As such, in this article, we utilize Black feminist perspectives to interrogate and (re)examine childhood regulatory spaces. We provide readers with storied narratives that demonstrate how younger human beings are violated, controlled, and disciplined. To emphasize these points, we describe these same childhood experiences as if they were happening to adults. Examples of situations interrogated include everyday childhood routines, the use of assessment to determine ability grouping, and implementation of classroom management systems. Theorizing the narratives with a Black feminist lens inspires the rethinking of everyday (sometimes unrealized) regulation of younger human beings in early childhood care and education.

Introduction

Children are regulated in early childhood care and education (ECCE) settings through restrictive physical environments, the curriculum, everyday routines, and by adults who serve as their teachers, administrators, and school support staff. As former educators of early childhood and now as scholars and teacher educators at universities in the United States, we have both participated in and witnessed these and other regulatory acts. However, through critical examination of our own practices and the governing environments adults (re)produce in ECCE, we have found that power relations can be unveiled and dismantled.

We come to this reflective space as educators, who over the years have attempted to explain the control, regulation, and violence that we as adults, and especially teachers, inflict upon younger human beings. In our university courses, we have found that having students reposition themselves as “child,” to imagine what it’s like to be under the constant surveillance of another human being who is viewed/universally constructed as more capable in all facets of life (e.g. emotionally, spiritually, cognitively, socially, physically, etc.), has helped students to consider the power hierarchies adults (re)produce in ECCE. To engage other adult learners and colleagues beyond our individual higher education classrooms in this re-articulation exercise, we share with readers a series of storied narratives that attempt to disrupt normalized, regulatory practices in ECCE contexts. With the use of critical, poststructural, and Black feminist perspectives to theoretically frame power relations, we reposition childhood lived experiences within adult contexts. We argue that if these childhood experiences occurred within adult contexts, such actions would be unimaginable (except perhaps in prison or enslavement circumstances). Our aim, then, is to highlight how the subjugation of younger human beings has become hegemonically normalized and entrenched in our everyday ECCE spaces and, with this acknowledgement, move those who embody adult identities to rethink their regulatory interactions with children.

As women of color, we recognize that adults with marginalized social locations and the more than human (Taylor, 2013) can relate to analogous oppressive acts in their encounters with patriarchy, colonialism, homophobia, heteronormativity, racism, classism, and ableism. However, even with the embodiment of these intersecting, often marginalized positionalities, the “condition” of childhood has produced the consummate Other—one for whom in many societies, particularly in the global north, it is deemed socially acceptable and even the responsibility of “modern humanity” to control, regulate, and normalize toward adulthood. This disciplinary power is all encompassing for younger human beings who are subjected to domination by family members, adults in the community, and teachers alike, in addition to laws and restrictive environments that infringe on their civil rights, often in the name of protection (Karban and Horrocks, 2000; Pérez, 2014). With such pervasive encroachment upon younger human beings’ diverse ways of becoming, through the re/telling of childhood lived experiences within adult contexts, we hope to rupture adult hegemony with the stated purpose to assist ourselves, other adults, and early childhood educators in actualizing the equitable and socially just spaces they/we hope to foster.

Theorizing power

A large body of scholarship exists that challenges universalized notions of truth in ECCE (Bloch et al., 2014; Burman, 2008; Cannella, 1997; Dahlburg and Moss, 2005). This includes the interrogation of modernist assumptions surrounding development, the linearity of human/more than human experiences, and constructions of otherness that have been (re)produced under past and contemporary colonial, global north dominance. Critical, postmodern, and poststructural perspectives generated by European philosophers like Foucault, Derrida, and Deleuze and Guattari have been instrumental in problematizing constructs of power in ECCE, opening possibilities for resistance that inspire equity and social change. As an example, relensing early childhood as governed by regimes of truth has allowed for the challenging of universalized ways of knowing in our field. MacNaughton (2005) explains in her book Doing Foucault in Early Childhood,

Officially sanctioned truths about the social world are woven together into a discursive regime (or system of management) that governs what are held to be the normal or desirable ways to think, act and feel in institutions. They produce a “general politics” (Foucault, 1980: 131) or “regime” (Foucault, 1980) of truth in society. (pp. 26–27)

In early childhood, the interrogation of regimes of truth surrounding child psychology, development, quality, and best practices has created possibilities for a multiplicity of knowledges to be considered, while avoiding the creation of new truths (Dahlburg and Moss, 2005). Other examples of influential poststructural scholars include Derrida (1998), who has prompted the deconstruction of ECCE, and Deleuze and Guattari (1987), who have theorized notions of rhizomes and nomadicisim, which has encouraged the rethinking of linearity and cause and effect, and emphasized ruptures or openings to new ways of becoming/knowing.

We acknowledge and have been inspired in our own work by the philosophical discussions produced by more dominantly utilized critical, poststructural perspectives in reconceptualist early childhood scholarship; however, we concur with Audre Lorde (1984) when she questions, “What does it mean when the tools of a racist patriarchy are used to examine the fruits of that same patriarchy? It means that only the most narrow perimeters of change are possible and allowable” (pp. 110–111). Although there are many parallels and recognized borrowings of theoretical discussions within Black feminist perspectives from White, male, critical, and poststructural scholars, in an attempt to broaden possibilities for change and avoid the use of the Master’s tools (e.g. White, male, western perspectives), we look to Black feminist thought to interrogate adult/child power relations.

Black feminist thought

As women of color with racialized social locations, we have felt strong affinities to the ontologies and epistemologies of Black feminist perspectives (Collins, 2008; hooks, 2000a; Lorde, 1984). Collins (2000) suggests,

By advocating, refining, and disseminating Black feminist thought, individuals from other groups who are engaged in similar social justice projects—Black men, African women, White men, Latinas, White women, and members of other U.S. racial/ethnic groups, for example—can identify points of connection that further social justice projects. (p. 37)

As such, Black feminist thought has been particularly useful to inform social justice projects not only to provoke change for Black women and women of color but also transformative action for others with marginalized identities, such as children.

Black feminist thought provides a distinctly different analysis than other critical and poststructural perspectives—theorizing begins at the lived experiences of “others” and therefore is constructed upon the herstories, lifenotes, and counternarratives of women of color and other oppressed groups (Bell-Scott, 1994). It is precisely why we begin our analysis of regulated childhoods with the notion of lived experiences. Storied narratives provide illustrations of the subjectivities and oppressive truths about childhood that have allowed for a context where power relations are (re)produced.

Because Black feminist thought is built upon multiple, often marginalized, individual, and collective lived experiences, its theoretical framing is dynamic and ever-changing. At its core, however, Black feminist thought reveals and challenges systemic and institutionalized power and oppression. Intersectionalities (Crenshaw, 1991), such as the intertwining of race, class, gender, sexuality, and nationality, among other identity constructs, are complicated as existing as matrices of domination. Collins (2000) explains,

Intersectional paradigms remind us that oppression cannot be reduced to one fundamental type, and that oppressions work together to create injustices. In contrast, the matrix of domination refers to how these intersecting oppressions are actually organized. Regardless of the particular intersections involved, structural, disciplinary, hegemonic, and interpersonal domains of power reappear across quite different forms of oppression. (p. 18)

Lensing childhood regulation as a function of matrices of domination (or symbiotic structural, disciplinary, hegemonic, and interpersonal power) provides openings to shift hierarchical power relations. Structural power upholds control for the elite, and disciplinary power exists as a mechanism to maintain oppression even when structural power has been challenged. Hegemonic oppression manifests through colonization of one’s mind, and interpersonal power is embedded in our everyday relations (see Pérez and Williams, 2014, for extended discussion on Collins’ domains of power). The theorizing of interpersonal power also explicates notions of both/and. Both/and assumes that depending on one’s intersecting identities and social locations, which are fluid and in constant flux, he or she is both oppressor and oppressed. Applied to ECCE, as a workforce comprising mostly women, both/and subsists within gendered matrices of domination. Although our positionalities as women serve as a basis for gender oppression, privileged intersecting “adult” identities allow for the subjugation of those positioned as “child.” This exemplifies how both/and functions as a technology of control for adults in childhood contexts.

In a conversation with Cornell West, bell hooks postulates, “we will never know until children have a collective voice how much violence women do to children” (hooks and West, 2014: 48:40). We concur with hooks’ observation, for we have witnessed, engaged in, and have been shaped by oppressive practices in ECCE. As women of color, we are especially mindful of the ways in which power operates to oppress while can be taken on by the marginalized (Lorde, 1984). A major aim, then, is to challenge ourselves and other adults to acknowledge and destabilize power hierarchies that are reified through childhood and adult interpersonal power relations.

Repositioning childhood/s lived experiences

In the forthcoming, based on a compellation of our experiences working with young children over the years, we introduce two sets of childhood/adult storied narratives. The narratives account for the ways in which adults, many times unknowingly, order, punish, and violate children. This often occurs in the name of strategies for classroom management or protecting and caring for children. While not the intention of many adults and educators, regulatory acts are embedded in such problematic rationales and become restrictive and colonizing as they manifest in our everyday encounters. Examples include adult methods of control facilitated through daily routines, oppressive care and school environments, the use of assessment to determine ability grouping, and the implementation of classroom management policies. After each childhood and adult narrative, we provide a Black feminist analysis of the regulatory conditions (re)produced. We note that although some of the intersectional aspects of the child and adult identities are analyzed, our main focus for this article is to interrogate adult/child binaries. We acknowledge that the complex lived experiences expressed in the narratives do not reflect the multiplicity of childhoods that exist and could be further theorized with greater attention to other intersectional identity constructs related to gender, sexuality, language, nationality, race, and ability, among others.

Elsa’s childhood storied narrative

One day in October, Elsa, a 4-year-old Latina pre-kindergartener, and her friends were building a house with blocks, when her teacher approached the group. She asked Elsa to go with the woman by her side, Ms Smith—so, Elsa stopped building with her friends and left the classroom. No one explained to Elsa where she was going. She didn’t know Ms Smith so she felt scared. During their walk through the hallways, Ms Smith instructed that there would be no talking. To ensure this, she asked Elsa to place her hands behind her back in order to make a “ducktail” and to fill her cheeks with air to make “bubbles” in her mouth. Elsa didn’t mind making the bubbles, but the ducktail was so difficult for her to maintain that she lost her balance and fell down! As she looked up from the floor, she could see Ms Smith’s disapproving glare, so she quickly stood up and resumed her ducktail and bubble position. When they finally reached their destination, Elsa found that she had never been to this room in the school. It was small and only had one table; no other children were present. Ms Smith still didn’t tell Elsa what she was doing there, but she did explain that they were going to play some games together. This made Elsa excited! But as they proceeded, Elsa found that the “games” were not as fun as she thought they’d be. Instead, they felt more like a test. Ms Smith asked Elsa to perform some tasks and then wrote down everything she did; she seemed to be taking extremely thorough notes. After they finished playing “games,” Ms Smith walked Elsa back to her class. The classroom teacher asked Elsa to read a book while she and Ms Smith talked privately. Elsa still had no idea why she had gone to play “games” or exactly what this was all about. The next week, upon request of the classroom teacher and Ms Smith, Elsa’s mom went to the school for a meeting. The meeting was about Elsa but she wasn’t permitted to attend. That night, Elsa asked her mom what had happened; however, upset herself about learning of her daughter’s supposed “developmental delays,” her mom thought it was best not to share with Elsa what had been discussed.

Nothing seemed to change for the next several months, that is, until Elsa returned from winter break. She was building blocks again with her friends when her teacher said that she had to leave with another woman. Elsa figured she was going to play more “games” with Ms Smith, but something was different this time. They were walking around the school (in ducktail and bubble fashion) retrieving children from other classrooms. The now group of six arrived at a small room where they were asked to sit together at a table. The woman finally introduced herself as Ms Taylor and shared that she was going to be their new teacher for the next hour. They would practice skills they weren’t “good at” so that they could improve their performance in their “regular” classroom. Elsa didn’t want to be there and she certainly didn’t want another teacher. She liked her regular classroom teacher. Why didn’t anyone ask Elsa what she wanted? From then on, every day, Ms Taylor took Elsa out of her classroom during block time, her favorite time of day. Wondering whether she had done something wrong, Elsa asked her teacher why she had to leave. Her teacher responded that she was special. But Elsa didn’t feel special. She felt different, like something was wrong with her and her teacher didn’t want her in her classroom any longer. She still didn’t understand why all this was happening.

Black feminist analysis of Elsa’s childhood storied narrative: unveiling matrices of domination

In this first narrative, we meet Elsa. Elsa’s story is not uncommon in the United States, especially as a Latina child who is already positioned as less than based on racist assumptions both in society and by a workforce comprising mostly White teachers (Rivas, 2010; Saavedra, 2011). As a 4-year-old, she is afforded even less power within her classroom context (Cannella, 1997). This is evident with the teacher’s (e.g. adult’s) hierarchical positioning that allows her to tell Elsa when she must leave the classroom (in the middle of an engaging block activity with peers) and without explanation. As a form of structural domination that upholds power for adults and subjugates children (Collins, 2008), these everyday acts of oppression have been institutionalized to the point that they materialize as normal practices in ECCE settings.

As the narrative continues, upon Elsa’s removal from the classroom, she remains under the constant supervision of an adult and is told to control her body in unnatural positions without making noise or movement. If we view Elsa’s fall as her body’s challenge to structural oppression, disciplinary power ensues when the teacher ensures Elsa’s “self-regulation” (a typical developmental goal in ECCE) with a simple stare. Disciplinary power continues to be central to Elsa’s experience when she is isolated from her classroom peers and placed in a room that is unfamiliar and out of her comfort zone. We then begin to see hegemonic domains of power intersect with structural and disciplinary oppressions when Ms Smith attempts to manipulate Elsa by describing an assessment activity as a game; however, Elsa can clearly distinguish between an assessment and a game. This illustrates the empowerment of younger human beings to resist adults’ attempts at hegemonic control. As another form of disciplinary power, when Elsa returns to her classroom, she remains uniformed of why she was removed and assessed. Even Elsa’s parent, who is disturbed with her daughter’s classification as developmentally delayed, abstains from sharing information with Elsa. Adult/child hierarchies allow for the assumption that children must be protected from knowing such information, which in actuality serves to reinforce adults’ power.

When Elsa finally learns why she is being removed from her classroom, and during a time of day she enjoys, the teacher assumes that using the term “special” somehow masks a label of less than, illustrating yet another attempt at hegemonic regulation (Arce, 2004; Collins, 2008). This prompts us to contemplate why, as adults and teachers, we are positioned to know what is in the best interest of a child. The silencing of Elsa’s voice and other children who experience this very scenario on a daily basis is astounding. We suggest, instead, that a conversation take place, where Elsa, the other children, and adults equitably contribute ideas to offer support for each person part of the classroom community, fostering interpersonal empowerment for all involved (Swadener, 2000). As Collins (2000) suggests, “only collective action can effectively generate the lasting institutional transformation required for social justice” (p. 290).

In the forthcoming, we reposition Elsa’s lived experience within a storied narrative about Katrina, a 45-year-old woman working at an architecture firm. We ask readers to imagine this reticulation of Elsa’s experiences as if it were happening to an adult.

Repositioning Elsa’s childhood lived experiences within an adult context

One day in October, Katrina, a 45-year-old Latina architect, was working with colleagues at her firm to assist in designing a new building project, when her division supervisor approached the group. She asked Katrina to go with a woman standing by her side, Ms Roberts—so Katrina stopped working and left with her. No one explained to her where she was going. She didn’t know Ms Roberts so felt scared. During their walk through the firm’s hallways, Katrina was instructed that there would be no talking. To ensure this, Ms Roberts asked Katrina to place her hands behind her back in order to make a “ducktail” and to fill her cheeks with air to make “bubbles” in her mouth. Katrina didn’t mind making the bubbles but the ducktail was so difficult for her to maintain that she lost her balance and fell down! As Katrina looked up from the floor, she could see Ms Roberts’ disapproving glare, so she quickly stood up and resumed her ducktail and bubble position. When they finally reached their destination, Katrina found that she had never been to this room in her firm’s building. It was small and only had one table; no other colleagues were present. Ms Roberts still didn’t tell Katrina what she was doing there, but she did say that they were going to work on a new creative project together. This made Katrina excited! But then as they proceeded, Katrina found that the activity was not as exciting as she had originally thought. Instead, it felt more like a test. Ms Roberts asked Katrina to complete some tasks and then wrote down everything she did; she seemed to be taking extremely thorough notes. After they finished, Ms Roberts walked Katrina back to her division’s office suite. Her supervisor asked Katrina to work on something while she talked to Ms Roberts privately. Katrina still had no idea why she had gone to “work on a new creative project” with Ms Roberts or exactly what this was all about. The next week, upon request of Katrina’s supervisor and Ms Roberts, Katrina’s wife came to the firm for a meeting. The meeting was about Katrina but she wasn’t permitted to attend. After work, Katrina asked her wife what had happened; however, upset herself about what was said concerning her wife’s “developmental delays” at work, she thought it was best not to share what had been discussed.

Nothing seemed to change for Katrina for the next several months, that is, until she returned from winter vacation. She was working with her colleagues on a design project when her division supervisor informed her that she had to leave with another woman. Katrina figured she was going to see Ms Roberts again, whom she’d met with back in October, but something was different this time. They were walking around the firm’s building (in ducktail and bubble fashion) to retrieve colleagues from other divisions. The now group of six arrived at a small room where they were asked to sit together at a table. The woman finally introduced herself, saying her name was Ms Baxter and that she was going to be one of the group’s new supervisors. They would practice skills they weren’t “good at” for an hour each day so that they could improve their performance in their “regular” division of the firm. Katrina didn’t want to be there and she certainly didn’t want another supervisor. She liked her division supervisor. Why did no one ask Katrina what she wanted? From then on, every day, Ms Baxter took Katrina out of her division during project development time, her favorite time of the work day. Wondering whether she had done something wrong, Katrina asked why she had to go with Ms Baxter every day. Katrina’s supervisor responded that she was special. But Katrina didn’t feel special. She felt different, like something was wrong with her and her supervisor didn’t want her in her division any longer. She still didn’t understand why all this was happening.

Black feminist analysis of Katrina’s storied narrative

In this rearticulated version of Elsa’s original story, we are asked to imagine how her experiences as a child would play out if she were a 45-year-old adult. We must assume a certain amount of class privilege for Katrina since she is an architect; however, we must also acknowledge her both/and positioning as a Latina woman in a mostly White-and male-dominated field. Other possible identity intersections such as language or sexuality could be considered as well. Nonetheless, if we focus on Katrina’s privileged position as an adult, we find that her story would likely warrant legal action against the architecture firm. While we can critique legal systems as governing apparatuses and question whether discriminatory acts are reported or companies are held liable often enough, legal systems tend to ensure the rights of adults more so than children (Cox et al., 2000). This illustrates the structural power that privileges adults over children. There are also interpersonal privileges that would likely be afforded to Katrina in her situation that Elsa would not receive, such as telling Katrina why she had to leave her project, the purpose of the assessments, and why her daily employment circumstances were changing. Undoubtedly, a family member (in Katrina’s case, her partner) would not have been called into the workplace to discuss her performance. Furthermore, in professional adult spaces, workers are rarely removed from divisions across a company and placed in remediation groups, a common disciplinary practice in early childhood settings. Finally, it is unimaginable that attempts at hegemonically controlling adults through antics like making ducktails and bubbles when walking down the hall would be acceptable. When this type of regulatory control occurs, it is typically in prison or military settings. Neither children nor adults should be subjected to such humiliating methods of control.

In these first storied narratives, Black feminist analysis of power illustrates the ways in which structural, disciplinary, hegemonic, and interpersonal oppressions assemble as matrices of domination and place children in regulatory contexts that would be unimaginable if repositioned in adult settings. In our next set of storied narratives, we continue to unveil matrices of domination as we examine children’s encounters with behavioral management systems.

Crystal’s childhood storied narrative

It had been a stressful day for Crystal, a 7-year-old African American first grader at Borderlands Elementary. The teacher had been on Crystal’s case all morning. First, she was told to “be still”; she was moving too much during calendar time. The teacher liked for everyone to sit on the carpet with legs crisscross applesauce, but Crystal wanted to stretch. She was reminded repeatedly by the teacher that it was her job to remember to follow the rules or else there would be consequences. To facilitate this, a classroom behavior chart was created that displayed the colors green, yellow, orange, and red. Green symbolized “good” behavior, yellow served as a warning, orange was a second warning, and red meant the teacher would take corrective action. Crystal and her classmates’ colors on the chart were assigned according to their compliance (or non-compliance) with the teacher’s rules. Because Crystal wasn’t sitting still on the carpet that morning, her marker was moved to yellow. Strike 1! Crystal thought.

As Crystal joined her classmates for a midmorning book read aloud, she contemplated her earlier reprimand. On guard, worrying she might make another error, she tried her very best to avoid landing on orange. But as the teacher’s eyes interlocked with Crystal’s, she knew what was coming next; her walk to the chart of doom was inevitable. She was told to be quiet but wonders, “doesn’t my teacher understand that I was only trying to tell my friend about my favorite part of the story?” Strike 2! Crystal’s marker is moved to orange.

As the day progressed, Crystal didn’t understand how things had escalated to this moment. The dragging of a classroom desk, the pushing of a chair, and the banishment to the back of the room all alerted her to the fact that she had reached red on the behavior chart—strike 3! Crystal was out. As the sentence of solitary confinement played out, Crystal found herself convicted without judge or jury. Why in the world did the teacher keep calling her desk a private island? Sitting alone without her friends didn’t feel like much of a vacation. Crystal contemplated, would she be allowed to rejoin the group again that day? How much longer would her period of banishment last? Would she be eligible for an appeal or would the conviction of misbehavior become a part of her permanent school record?

Black feminist analysis of crystal’s childhood storied narrative: unveiling matrices of domination

In this storied narrative, Crystal, similar to Elsa, is likely marginalized based on her positionality as African American (Delpit and Dowdy, 2002; Redeaux, 2011). Her race, as it intersects with her age and gender, situates Crystal in matrices of domination where the adult, in this case the teacher, attempts to regulate her mind, body, and spirit. Once again, in this story, we find that Crystal’s body is controlled with “cute” antics like crisscross applesauce to force compliance (which only in recent years has been used to replace the racist and colonizing euphemism, sitting “Indian style”). Hegemonic tactics interplay with technologies of control that are embedded in behavioral management systems in order to systematize power for adults. Collins (2000) reminds us,

Domination operates by seducing, pressuring, or forcing African-American women, members of subordinated groups, and all individuals to replace individual and cultural ways of knowing with the dominant group’s specialized thought—hegemonic ideologies that, in turn, justify practices of other domains of power. (p. 287)

To reinforce adults’ power, children’s self-regulation becomes essential (Cannella and Viruru, 2002; Foucault, 1978; Gore, 1998). Until self-regulation has become part of a child’s corporeal existence, they are disciplined all day every day to “be still” and “quiet” or face punishment by those in power (e.g. adults). Crystal and other children across the United States are subjected regularly to similar school and sometimes district wide mandated behavioral management systems. Through the movement of a Velcro popsicle stick or clothespin on a color-coded behavior chart, children’s bodies are disciplined. In the narrative, we find this system creates stress and anxiety for Crystal, which stays with her all day, even when engaging in practices that are beneficial to her and her peers like talking about her favorite parts of a book. In regulated early childhood spaces, conversations between peers can only take place in accordance to when and how the adult deems appropriate.

Crystal’s day ends in a violent confrontation with the teacher. The teacher’s aggressive physical actions are accompanied by a play on words, calling Crystal’s isolation a private island. Similar to the first childhood narrative, we see how children resist being hegemonically controlled by consciously challenging masked forms of oppression. At the end of the narrative, Crystal contemplates consequences she might face. Possibilities include her non-compliance becoming part of her permanent school record or, at the very least, the sharing of her “misbehavior” among other adults at the school and/or with Crystal’s caretakers. Regulatory acts such as these not only produce violence for children but also allow for behavioral/academic tracking, further regulating children throughout their future school experiences.

We now invite readers to reposition Crystal’s childhood experience in an adult context.

Repositioning crystal’s childhood lived experiences within an adult context

It had been a stressful day for Monique, a 55-year-old African American faculty member at Borderlands University. There was an all-day college retreat that everyone was required to attend. The dean had been on Monique’s case all morning. First, she was told to “be still”; she was moving too much in her chair during the morning workshop. The dean asked for everyone to sit with legs crisscross applesauce, but Monique wanted to stretch. She was reminded repeatedly by the dean to follow the rules or else there would be consequences. To facilitate this, the college created a behavior chart for the faculty retreat which illustrated the colors green, yellow, orange, and red. Green symbolized “good” behavior, yellow served as a warning, orange was a second warning, and red meant the dean would take corrective action. Monique and her colleagues’ colors on the chart were assigned according to their compliance (or non-compliance) with the dean’s rules. Because Monique wasn’t sitting “properly” this morning, her marker was moved to yellow. Strike 1! Monique thought.

As Monique joined her colleagues for a midmorning lecture by the dean, she contemplated her earlier reprimand. On guard, worrying she might make another error, she tried her very best to not land on orange. As the dean’s eyes interlocked with Monique’s, she knew what was coming next; his walk to the chart of doom was inevitable. She was told to be quiet but wondered, “didn’t my dean understand that I was talking to my colleague sitting next to me to discuss my favorite parts of his lecture?” Strike 2! Monique’s marker was moved to orange.

As the faculty retreat continued into the afternoon, Monique didn’t understand how things had escalated to this moment. The dragging of a desk, the pushing of a chair, and the banishment to the back of the room all alerted her to the fact that she had reached red on the behavior chart—strike 3! Monique was out. As the sentence of solitary confinement played out, Monique found herself convicted without judge or jury. Why in the world did the dean keep calling her desk a private island? Sitting alone without her colleagues didn’t feel like much of a vacation. Monique contemplated, would she be allowed to rejoin the group again that day? How much longer would her period of banishment last? Would she be eligible for appeal or would the conviction of misbehavior become a part of her permanent work record?

Black feminist analysis of Monique’s storied narrative

In this rearticulated narrative, Monique’s intersectional identity is complicated by interpersonal power dynamics. While being in a field like academia allows for some class and social privilege, Katrina is also a woman of color. There are indisputably documented circumstances of micro and macro aggressions for women of color attempting to thrive/survive in the ivory tower (Latina Feminist Group, 2001; Shelby-Caffey et al., 2015). Furthermore, we must acknowledge that similar and more intense violence occurs for factory and field workers whose brown and black bodies have historically been subjected to abuse, inequitable labor practices, and enslavement both in the United States and around the globe (Collins, 2005).

Although regulatory acts are present in spaces like academia, especially for historically oppressed peoples, it is unlikely that adults in academic contexts encounter overt daily oppressive acts similar to those that children are subjected to with behavioral management systems. If happening to adults in a field like academia, lawsuits would abound. In Monique’s situation, she would have a strong legal case against the university based on racism and sexual harassment. “Cute” antics such as telling a faculty she was on a private island after physically isolating her would be viewed as sarcastic and aggressive.

Astounding, then, is the pervasiveness of regulatory violence that occurs for children at the hands of adults masked as everyday routines in ECCE. Collins (2000) posits,

Whereas the structural domain of power organizes the macro-level of social organization with the disciplinary domain managing its operations, the interpersonal domain functions through routinized, day-to-day practices of how people treat one another (e.g., the micro-level of social organization). Such practices are systemic, recurrent, and so familiar, that they often go unnoticed. (p. 287)

Regulation through behavioral management techniques has become systematized and familiar in childhood spaces. However, unbeknownst to many adults, children are keenly attuned to recognizing these hegemonic matrices of domination.

Concluding thoughts

Although most individuals have little difficulty identifying their own victimization within some major system of oppression—whether by race, social class, religion, physical ability, sexual orientation, ethnicity, age or gender—they typically fail to see how their thoughts and actions uphold someone else’s subordination … In essence, each group identifies the oppression with which it feels most comfortable as being fundamental and classifies all others as being lesser importance. Oppression is filled with such contradictions because these approaches fail to recognize that a matrix of domination contains few pure victims or oppressors. (Collins, 2000: 287)

Collins’ words remind us that although many of us in ECCE are women (or women of color) working within oppressive structures in a gendered field, matrices of domination have allowed us as educators to subjugate younger human beings. Even with our (re)articulated storied narratives that seek to interrogate matrices of domination, “white supremacist capitalist patriarchy” (hooks, 2000a: 4) persists when considering we, as adults, informed the analysis of childhood regulation and focused solely on US contexts, denying multiple and diverse viewpoints and lived experiences of children around the world. We do, however, believe that the child/adult storied narratives provide a way to unearth the outlandish treatment of younger human beings, prompting us to rethink our roles as scholars, educators, and activists. Each childhood vignette and subsequent adult re-articulation provides a moment of much needed pause in our everyday regulatory performances as adults, inviting us to realign mind, body, action, and intention in our interpersonal relations with children. Furthermore, while critical scholarship has disrupted taken-for-granted beliefs, values, and social structures by making these systems and their shortcomings visible (Kincheloe and McLaren, 1994), the perspective of Black feminist thought opens a new space for dialogue in ECCE, one that values lived experiences and onto-epistemologies from the margins (Collins, 2000). Shifting often unrecognized knowledges from margin to center (hooks, 2000b) creates a bridge toward transformative praxis.

As women of color, Walker (2003) compels us to access contrary instincts, or to name and make visible that which the privileged are often unable to see. This means that as a gendered field, we must also collectively tap into the violence experienced as women as a source for acknowledging and changing our everyday enactments of oppression and violence against children. By doing so, we can find ways to deregulate and rethink our praxis in ECCE.