I did not arrive at this conclusion through theory. I arrived at it in a fourth-grade classroom, watching how easily history bends in front of children trained to trust the adult speaking. That moment did not feel dramatic at the time. It felt ordinary, which is precisely what made it dangerous.
My daughter’s class was reading Across the Alley, a children’s book about a Black boy and a Jewish boy growing up in 1940s Brooklyn and learning to cross the prejudices their families carry. It is the kind of curriculum I want for my children because it teaches friendship across differences and insists racism is constructed, not natural. The lesson was working. The room was quiet in the way classrooms get when children are listening seriously.
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