Why did we chose to focus on the cultural deficit model?
I chose to focus on the cultural deficit model for three reasons. I heard about the generations of trauma my ancestors encountered throughout their limited education; I experienced and continue to experience negative stereotypes about what I am and am not capable of because I am a Chicana, student of color; I am tired of seeing youth of color devalued by institutionalized education systems and dominant culture.
Educators rarely encouraged my parents and their parents to think of themselves as capable of learning. They confronted harsh punishment like being sent outside for hours because they were talking during a lesson that they did not comprehend. Aunts were slapped and screamed at for speaking Spanish inside the classroom. My uncles remember being told not to come to school on testing days, and my parents were tracked into manual labor or secretarial education paths. Waking up at two in the morning before school to work in the agricultural fields, my parents remained resilient despite the overt and covert racism that they confronted. Educators in their life expected little from these “dirty Mexican.” This expectation of failure was shared with me via stories. Instead of internalizing this trauma, I have taken great pride in being an educator who works to unmask the deficit thinking deeply engrained in our education system.
My own experience with deficit thinking has been deeply tied to racial and gendered stereotypes about Chicana and Latina women. Statistics and dominant narratives told people that I was not suppose to attend college. Stereotypes insisted that if I did well in school, I was doing so at the expense of my cultural identity. So often I heard comments about how “articulate” I was for being my fathers daughter. My father, a hardworking and compassionate man who is illiterate, was always proud to have me by his side. People on the other hand could not understand how such a “articulate” and white skinned girl could be his daughter. These experiences with stereotypes only reinforced my passion to defy normative narratives and create a counterstory that asserted my place and value within society.
Lastly, I chose to focus on the deficit model because I believe youth of color are constantly devalued by society. Seen as “at risk,” they confront so many barriers throughout their educational journey. Having worked with youth of color and sharing these stories with Eden Tullis, the co-author of this site, I felt it was important that I be a part of building a website that unmask the pervasive nature of the deficit model. Youth empowerment projects across the country are doing this by insisting youth voices be a part of democratic processes and educational policies. We as educators need to stop expecting failure from our youth of color and start maximizing off their cultural capital. Youth of color have vibrant identities and voices to offer. Why not welcome and empower them to be critical and active citizen by lifting up their voices and experiences within the classroom?
Educators rarely encouraged my parents and their parents to think of themselves as capable of learning. They confronted harsh punishment like being sent outside for hours because they were talking during a lesson that they did not comprehend. Aunts were slapped and screamed at for speaking Spanish inside the classroom. My uncles remember being told not to come to school on testing days, and my parents were tracked into manual labor or secretarial education paths. Waking up at two in the morning before school to work in the agricultural fields, my parents remained resilient despite the overt and covert racism that they confronted. Educators in their life expected little from these “dirty Mexican.” This expectation of failure was shared with me via stories. Instead of internalizing this trauma, I have taken great pride in being an educator who works to unmask the deficit thinking deeply engrained in our education system.
My own experience with deficit thinking has been deeply tied to racial and gendered stereotypes about Chicana and Latina women. Statistics and dominant narratives told people that I was not suppose to attend college. Stereotypes insisted that if I did well in school, I was doing so at the expense of my cultural identity. So often I heard comments about how “articulate” I was for being my fathers daughter. My father, a hardworking and compassionate man who is illiterate, was always proud to have me by his side. People on the other hand could not understand how such a “articulate” and white skinned girl could be his daughter. These experiences with stereotypes only reinforced my passion to defy normative narratives and create a counterstory that asserted my place and value within society.
Lastly, I chose to focus on the deficit model because I believe youth of color are constantly devalued by society. Seen as “at risk,” they confront so many barriers throughout their educational journey. Having worked with youth of color and sharing these stories with Eden Tullis, the co-author of this site, I felt it was important that I be a part of building a website that unmask the pervasive nature of the deficit model. Youth empowerment projects across the country are doing this by insisting youth voices be a part of democratic processes and educational policies. We as educators need to stop expecting failure from our youth of color and start maximizing off their cultural capital. Youth of color have vibrant identities and voices to offer. Why not welcome and empower them to be critical and active citizen by lifting up their voices and experiences within the classroom?
WHAT IS THE CONNECTION BETWEEN THE CULTURAL DEFICIT MODEL TO OUR MULTICULTURAL PERSPECTIVES COURSE?
I think multicultural education as a field of study is an attempt to unmask the deficit model entrenched in or education system. Whether it be Sonia Nieto or James A. Banks’ scholarly work, the goal of multicultural education is to prepare educators (mostly teachers) for the rapidly changing demographics of students and provide strategies for teaching within a multicultural classroom. This EDUC 515 course similarly introduces its students to issues related to identity and systems of power and oppression. Ultimately, I think this course’s text and peer facilitated dialogues have opened up space for us to see the cultural capital marginalized students carry. This course is an effort to move away from deficit thinking and toward a holistic, social justice perspective on students’ cultural assets.
UNMASKING OUR CULTURAL CAPITAL
When I entered the Student Development Administration (SDA) program at Seattle University, I expected for the two-year experiences to be filled with challenges and learning. Eager to utilize my time with faculty and staff well, I quickly built a community of support around me. Ultimately, peers who graduated last year became the key community of support for me as a first-generation student of color in the program. I remember the exact moment, I felt like the only Chicana/Latina/Hispanic in the program. I say felt here because I had already asked enough questions to know that I would potently be the only Chicana/Latina/Hispanic. Feeling this reality is different than knowing it. I sat in a theory class where we did racial caucuses. I sat there alone in my own caucus. In this moment, I thought to myself –you deserve to be here, and your community has deserved to be. I never questioned my ability to succeed in this environment nor did I question my passion for being an educator who is committed to college access and capacity building amongst marginalized communities.
The reason I did not crumble at the aforementioned moment of learning is because I had created a community of support that affirmed my cultural capital as a form of wealth. Faculty and staff problematized foundational student development theories with me in dialogues about race, class, and gender. My peers affirmed the academic and personal contributions of one another while placing a special emphasis on our resiliency as students of color. The framework from which many of these conversations emerged was Critical Race Theory. We (faculty, staff, and students) were invested in learning how CRT mattered in the field and to our professional and personal development. My introduction to CRT was through Yosso (2005) piece on CCW. It was within this theoretical model that I learned news ways to articulate the cultural wealth I carry. Invested in translating theory into praxis and practice, I have taken what I have learned about CCW and CRT and created an interactive workshop for undergraduate students. As I facilitate this workshop, I share my various forms of cultural capital (or wealth) as a way to encourage others to also share their stories. Some of what I share in this workshop is below.
Aspirational capital has been a foundational pillar in my educational career as I have confronted and overcome various barriers on this journey. A prominent stereotype associated with Chicana women from the Central Valle of California is that they will be mothers before they graduate high school. Knowing that this stereotype dominated the perceptions of my community, I aspired to be a different example for Chicanas. I was the first in my extended family to attend a 4-year university. Attaining this goal despite the real and perceived barriers I confronted, I was and continue to be committed to utilizing my social and navigational capital to successfully move through systems of education while simultaneously creating pathways for other marginalized students to maneuver similar spaces. My resistant capital consistently emerged in my high school, undergraduate, and graduate education. I was first introduced to Chican@ studies and ethnic studies in high school. The thought of learning about systems of power and oppressions’ impact on the experiences and dreams of marginalized communities energized me. To this day, I find myself thinking from and through various ethnic studies theories and lenses as a means of displaying my dedication to problematizing notions of schooling and education so that marginalized experiences and voices are a part of these historically hegemonic systems. Linguistic capital has arisen in my work and my daily life in the ways in which I use Spanglish to communicate. As a Chicana daughter of migrant workers, I learned a great deal about the power of language. I learned that my name was intended to be pronounced as Victoria in Spanish and not in English. This familial knowledge and history combined with my time in Chican@ studies reinforced my commitment to voice my mestiza consciousness in the way that I speak and write.
I am here for a purpose. My purpose is to be a democratic educator who is a part of the 4% of Latina/os who have a master’s degree. I am here, but I am not alone. I carry my capital, my ancestors, my love for education, and my resiliency with me. I am here for that purpose (Solórzano, Villalpando & Oseguera, 2005).
The reason I did not crumble at the aforementioned moment of learning is because I had created a community of support that affirmed my cultural capital as a form of wealth. Faculty and staff problematized foundational student development theories with me in dialogues about race, class, and gender. My peers affirmed the academic and personal contributions of one another while placing a special emphasis on our resiliency as students of color. The framework from which many of these conversations emerged was Critical Race Theory. We (faculty, staff, and students) were invested in learning how CRT mattered in the field and to our professional and personal development. My introduction to CRT was through Yosso (2005) piece on CCW. It was within this theoretical model that I learned news ways to articulate the cultural wealth I carry. Invested in translating theory into praxis and practice, I have taken what I have learned about CCW and CRT and created an interactive workshop for undergraduate students. As I facilitate this workshop, I share my various forms of cultural capital (or wealth) as a way to encourage others to also share their stories. Some of what I share in this workshop is below.
Aspirational capital has been a foundational pillar in my educational career as I have confronted and overcome various barriers on this journey. A prominent stereotype associated with Chicana women from the Central Valle of California is that they will be mothers before they graduate high school. Knowing that this stereotype dominated the perceptions of my community, I aspired to be a different example for Chicanas. I was the first in my extended family to attend a 4-year university. Attaining this goal despite the real and perceived barriers I confronted, I was and continue to be committed to utilizing my social and navigational capital to successfully move through systems of education while simultaneously creating pathways for other marginalized students to maneuver similar spaces. My resistant capital consistently emerged in my high school, undergraduate, and graduate education. I was first introduced to Chican@ studies and ethnic studies in high school. The thought of learning about systems of power and oppressions’ impact on the experiences and dreams of marginalized communities energized me. To this day, I find myself thinking from and through various ethnic studies theories and lenses as a means of displaying my dedication to problematizing notions of schooling and education so that marginalized experiences and voices are a part of these historically hegemonic systems. Linguistic capital has arisen in my work and my daily life in the ways in which I use Spanglish to communicate. As a Chicana daughter of migrant workers, I learned a great deal about the power of language. I learned that my name was intended to be pronounced as Victoria in Spanish and not in English. This familial knowledge and history combined with my time in Chican@ studies reinforced my commitment to voice my mestiza consciousness in the way that I speak and write.
I am here for a purpose. My purpose is to be a democratic educator who is a part of the 4% of Latina/os who have a master’s degree. I am here, but I am not alone. I carry my capital, my ancestors, my love for education, and my resiliency with me. I am here for that purpose (Solórzano, Villalpando & Oseguera, 2005).