(Re) Imagining Knowledge Production: Navigating Communities of Connection
On Becoming, Connection, Meaning
“The longest journey in life that you will ever take is from your head to your heart. Let’s fast track it through education.”
- Anishinaabe Traditional Grandmother & Elder Kim Wheatley. Her spirit name is Skoden Neegaan Waawaaskonen (Head or Leader of the Fireflower)
My journey between head and heart within the academic world has led me to the most meaningful relationships of my life. My heart has been a force for good, but it has also carried pain with the weight of honoring and upholding stories and relationships that have profoundly changed me. This pain goes beyond simple empathy, it is rooted in a sense of human decency that carries responsibility for caring, validating identities, and affirming others’ stories and their belonging. As bell hooks explains, “Rarely, if ever, are any of us healed in isolation. Healing is an act of communion” (1999, p. 215).
In 2021, the second year of the Covid-19 pandemic left me grieving the loss of college life I had worked so hard to get to and I was feeling deeply isolated. I yearned for connection. During this time, I also was forced to slow down. I spent a lot of time rediscovering my childhood backyard, tracing my steps on walks to the field nearby that leads to the Santa Monica Mountain Conservancy filled with wildflowers and buried treasures along the path of a raised home with pieces of old ceramic bath tiles and leftover trinkets. I listened to a lot of my parents' music, folk rock, like “Our House,” by Crosby, Stills, and Nash which speaks to more simple times and easy days. My days and weeks become periods of expansion—of possibility for reflection. During this time, the only way to remain connected with people was online, which is usually associated with demands of productivity, efficiency, and performativity. The pandemic took away that online masking, providing a way to reclaim a bit more of our humanity. What was most important for me was connection of any kind. The pandemic provided me space to think deeply about my relationships and what I wanted once we “returned to normalcy” (which spoiler: never happened). I reflected on the tension between real life connections and navigating the digital space as “we are not machines and our lives include all sorts of subtleties — epiphanies, alliances, associations, meanings, purposes, pleasures — that engineers cannot design, factories cannot build, computers cannot measure, and marketers will not sell” (Solnit, 2007).
During this time at home, I interned for an education non-profit that created supplementary curricula for public school history teachers. My understanding and connection to the past and how it informs our collective future allowed me to ask questions like: How can we be caretakers of history in a way that can include frameworks of justice and sovereignty? I made a connection with Andrew McConnell, an Indigenous educator from the York School District in Toronto, Canada, who was exploring similar questions about how Indigenous and non-Indigenous educators can collaborate to speak truth to history while honoring lived experiences. Andrew and I spent months getting to know each other before he agreed to be my thought partner. He grounded our relationship with the story about how the Hodinoshoni and Toowoomba codified an agreement through a visual wampum belt – a beaded belt with two purple lines running against a white beaded background. This belt signified the concept of sharing, creating a parallel pattern, and the idea of “staying in your own lane” while working towards a common goal - promoting sovereignty while at the same time acknowledging my whiteness, working with non Indigenous people on these questions, and for Andrew working directly with Indigenous people. I was introduced by Andrew to Grandmother Kim who crystalized a lot of my feelings about the importance of connection and believing in the good of humanity. I think it is very important to build trust with people that naturally have distrust in educational institutions because of how those institutions have othered. With connections comes responsibility. It is a privilege to hold their pain rather than experience it.
I realize that I owe my ability to connect to the technology of a digital space. Hours and hours of conversation provided what was quite possibly the most “human” interaction without being in anyone’s physical presence. Grandmother Kim spoke to me about “heart speak;” she said that she never talks with her head. Her “heart space” provides “the channel for ancestors who have gone on before me and descendants who have yet to arrive on the planet.” There were vignettes of beautiful moments. One such moment was when we honored the tradition of meeting an elder with a tobacco offering. I made this offering over our Zoom meeting, and asked her if she wanted me to send the tobacco to Toronto or handle it in a different way. She said to set an intention and put it near a body of water. I remember finding a puddle near the soil where I placed the tobacco, although we were a country away, those borders were only imagined because we walk on the same soil -- connected by the Earth, driven by similar passions and connected in the digital world.
On This Political Moment and My Place Within It
Four years later, at a time when I feel most hopeless, feelings of despair and aspiration compete to fill the space left by dashed expectations. At this moment in time I sit in tension, feeling simultaneously untethered and destabilized, and equally steadfast in my convictions and belief in community. While this tension continuously exists to some extent, I have never worked harder to gain my equilibrium and belief in the world as it should and can be. Relationships and points of connection are what fuel me, showing that humans are inherently relational and now more than ever, those networks are critical to lean on. Perhaps this is a turning point in an education journey that extends far beyond schooling. I look to Grandmother Kim’s teachings. She told me “I want to maintain hope. I want to believe in the humaneness of my fellow human beings, who live in a home that has always been ours. To stand up and not fight, but find beautiful loving ways to demand change.” If she still believes in humanity, after they have committed some of the darkest things known to mankind, tearing families apart, stripped religion and identity, so can I.
During my Jewish Reconstructionist upbringing, my family taught me that godliness is found in the moments between people. To find the “divine,” we need only look at how we interact with one another in the everyday moments of our lives. Today, I find it hard to hold onto faith in the polarized, tragic timeline we are living in—yet history reminds us that struggle and resistance are not new. So much of what I was taught to believe in is under attack such as the rights of LGBTQIA+ people and the very existence of trans communities, immigrants, a woman’s right to bodily autonomy. My whiteness and American citizenship offers a shield, not necessarily a strong one but awards privileges and assurance that many can not obtain. That being said, being Jewish and being a woman make me a target for both hatred and control. Nazis roam free in the United States and abroad. They ascend to leadership positions. Politicians I wouldn’t even invite to sit at my table join me at my gynecology appointment, policing my body. Tuning out the noise of so many injustices converging is a privilege, and to bear witness is the minimum. Feeling upset and hopeless serves a purpose and propels me toward action rather than paralysis. Black and Indigenous communities have offered frameworks that open the possibility to dream of something bigger; dreaming in itself is an act of resistance.
My relationships have proven to me that even when our trusted institutions have failed us, we can uplift ourselves. We can embrace stories of resilience and resistance, and seek connection and collective empowerment to counteract the authoritarian direction our country is heading. I attribute my ability to discern these nuanced feelings to education - to the formal learning spaces of school and to the informal digital learning environment.
On Schooling
Education has always been special to me. I am in a constant process of learning and unlearning, of attempting to build and rebuild community with others. My parents provided me with this foundation and value of education as a means to change the world and make it better. We believe in the Jewish value of Tikkun Olam, Hebrew for repairing the world. To that end, my parents prioritized my sister and my education. Our early school years were at a Jewish elementary school followed by Oakwood, a secular secondary school focused on academic rigor, the arts, and shaping and empowering “good humans.” I was taught to honor history and stories and to not shy from questioning what we are presented as truth. I was encouraged to explore why some communities' knowledge and stories and perspectives were prioritized over others, and whether that was intentional in terms of maintaining or disrupting power structures.
“You are of this place, it is changing you,” painted on a mural that caught my attention on my undergrad campus Pitzer College during orientation. As an 18 year old, all I was looking for was to become “of something” to find a sense of belonging. I continue to feel “of” places and be changed by communities that I have formed eight years later. My friendships provided a sense of fulfillment intellectually and more importantly brought joy. Professors became lifelong mentors. I entered Pitzer College as a political science major, drawn to the institution’s commitment to social justice values. Throughout my education, I noticed a recurring pattern: conversations about social change in the academy fell short of direct relationships with the community and just ended up reinforcing a deficiency and domination narrative. Yet, moving through that deficiency, and finding what unites us, while honoring our differences is what fosters connection, shared values and a truly meaningful community.”
An art history elective shifted the trajectory of my studies, leading me to media studies, which I saw as a more expansive and accessible discipline, bridging academia with community and uplifting their knowledge through dissemination of extra-textual modes of storytelling. I saw how storytelling can serve as a tool for political activism by offering different world perspectives and challenging the prevailing dominant value systems designed to marginalize certain voices.
My educational journey is a tapestry of stories. I chose to continue my studies in the University of Pennsylvania Graduate School of Education’s program Education, Culture, and Society with a concentration in Community Action and Social Change. The program gave me the opportunity to explore the theory and practice of multimodality in educational spaces to speak truth to history, and uplift unconventional and non-traditional forms of knowledge production. The Ethnographic Filmmaking course taught by filmmaker and Professor Amit Das, who later became my graduate mentor, explored the potential for the democratization of extra textual scholarship to elevate it to the same level of acceptance in academic settings as traditional forms of scholarship in peer-review circles. Without this leveling of the playing field, a mentality of even the most well intentioned academic that promotes a narrative “about us, without us,” is allowed to continue. This comes at the exclusion of creatives and cultures that have deep roots in oral histories and generational practices of sharing knowledge.
Centering extra textual modes of shared knowledge provides a collectivist framework that encourages inclusivity, belonging, and the subversion of constrictive norms within academia. The course was incredibly intentional; it combined technical skill with theory, but at its core, it was about community building. Here is where the creativity happened within a space that valued relationships, and relished in the collaborative process coupled with deep reflection after the films were created. I believe that recording our truths in this post-digital age cannot be linear, nor should it be confined to traditional text. I have been able to work
through deep reflection after the films were created. I believe that recording our truths in this post-digital age cannot be linear, nor should it be confined to traditional text. I have been able to work through the tensions that the digital landscape offers, and come to the realization that knowledge production has the capacity to be liberatory if it is rooted in shared identity, belonging, and access.
On the Potential of Shared Knowledge and Belonging
My master’s capstone examines the paradoxical nature of knowledge and knowledge production as both restricting and liberating. At its core, knowledge is neither neutral nor objective; it is inherently politicized, shaped by those in positions of power who determine what is considered valid, legitimate, or worthy of preservation. This politicization creates boundaries, excluding minoritized perspectives and reinforcing systems of oppression. Knowledge, in this sense, becomes a gatekeeping mechanism—a tool wielded to maintain existing hierarchies. It is rooted in power. Yet, within these constraints, knowledge production holds emancipatory potential. It serves as the foundation for critical thought, resistance, and reimagining of alternative futures. The very act of engaging with knowledge, challenging dominant narratives, and amplifying voices that have been silenced is itself an act of liberation.
Ultimately, we hold our own truths. But that doesn’t mean that all truths are created equal as historian and my graduate advisor Jonathan Zimmerman says. My understanding of liberation aligns with like-minded beliefs, but this yearning doesn't exclude the populist right. When considering the future of our country, it's essential to recognize that the idea of liberatory knowledge transcends political parties, even though it is entangled with contradictory beliefs. And that’s where education comes in. As my undergraduate mentor Barbara Junisbai said, education is about pluralism—it exposes us to multiple perspectives and possibilities. Ultimately, the power to choose what we value is the true democratization of knowledge.
As legacy news is dying, and the digital ecosystem continues to become decentralized, I am navigating my role within it. I question how we can build digital ecosystems that can uplift and affirm people’s stories, where people can find agency and education in navigating the curated online space. I want to dedicate my life to connecting people and to telling stories. In its purest form, Amit Das says, the online ecosystem is a labor of love filled with strong identity in digital citizenship where people communicate and aid one another. I want to flood the media ecosystem with content that speaks to my strongest beliefs. This may be my truth, and it may be different than others, but I choose the side of humanity, equity, compassion and love. Even though there is this deep feeling of despair in this political moment, history shows us that people are resilient and tumultuous times are both cyclical and transient, while on this collective journey between the head and the heart.
Bibliography
hooks, b. (1999). All about love: New visions. HarperCollins.
Solnit, R. (2007). Finding time. In Storming the gates of paradise: Landscapes for politics (pp. 33-43). University of California Press.