Stories of How Humanization and Systems Affect Individual Lives and Mathematics Learning

Humanization, as described by Freire (1970), is the process through which individuals become fully human, conscious of their lives within the broader context of the world. It emphasizes the value of co-constructing knowledge through dialogue, preventing instances of ignoring students’ humanity and prior knowledge, and allowing students to be critical thinkers. Freire argued that inequity persists when those most impacted by it cannot interpret the social structures responsible for creating and perpetuating the injustices. As I reflect on his theory, multiple narratives come to my mind from my own experiences. Humanness is often characterized and described by telling stories “to make sense of the world through narrative” (Johnstone, 2001, p. 635). In this article, I use my narratives as tools to illustrate specific humanizing practices I have encountered, my evolving understanding of humanization, and the relevant systemic influences on the lives of children, including my own children.

Narrative 1- Recognizing Dehumanizing Practices in Schooling: How A Tracking System Affected My Students

When I first taught mathematics, I did not know about Freire (1970), although I had glimpses of the importance of humanizing practices. My experiences in teaching mathematics trace back to my home country, South Korea. I began teaching mathematics to seventh graders in five classes, along with after-school classes, as a fixed-term teacher in a public school. At the school, students who received the lowest written mathematics scores in the previous year were placed into “Euler,” and the two other levels of higher-tracked mathematics classes were called “Perelman” and “Gauss.” When asked about teaching preferences, I offered that I was happy to teach any class. Two other experienced teachers chose Perelman and Gauss, and I became a teacher of the five Euler classes. 

I vividly remember a day when one of my students said, “Euler must be a stupid person. That’s why they named our math class Euler”. At that moment, I realized how the tracking system framed the way that my students saw themselves and their mathematical ability. I asked myself whether my students would be placed in Euler classes if other forms of assessment were utilized or other forms of mathematical smartness were valued. I also wondered whether tracking was beneficial for my students when they conceptualized themselves as belonging to the “stupid” group. Moreover, if my students were not part of the tracking system, they might have been taught by a more experienced teacher instead of me, a recent college graduate.

While I felt powerless to change the tracking system at that time, I resolved to teach my students the greatness of Euler as a mathematician, to show honor and care for each of them, and to engage them in working collaboratively on mathematics that might be relevant to their lives. When I treated each of them as a great mathematician like Euler, I observed changes in them. Students who had been identified as “troublemakers” in previous classes became more engaged and communicative with other students during mathematical activities. Some of them continued to contact me even after I left the school to start my master’s studies, and I believe it was because they recognized that I saw their worth and believed in their ability to do mathematics.

Narrative 2- The Awakening: Experiencing Humanizing Practices First-Hand and Identity Crisis

During my Ph.D. studies at Purdue University, another Ph.D. student, Lindsay Keazer, now an associate professor at Sacred Heart University, taught a graduate-level course titled Culturally Relevant Teaching in Mathematics Education. In the course, we read and discussed 12 books, including Freire (1970)’s work, during a 12-month book reading club. Reflecting on and discussing the books together helped me develop a critical perspective on society and its connections to mathematics teaching and learning. Our advisor, Jill Newton, saw fit to encourage a talented graduate student like Lindsay to teach the graduate-level book reading course, regardless of her status as a graduate student. Both Jill and Lindsay showed me what humanizing practices looked like in life and academia. They valued co-constructing knowledge through dialogue and open discussion, engaged me and others in becoming critical thinkers, implemented grassroot efforts for supporting marginalized communities, and valued the sociocultural resources of all, especially people of color. Their actions, along with many other colleagues and advisors, became seeds that inspired me to pursue and use specific humanizing practices they had modeled.

Ladson-Billings (1995) stated that people of color experience academic success “at the expense of their cultural and psychological well-being” (p. 475). I began to see this tension reflected in my own life more as my children were growing up. My older son, who only has a Korean name, refused to be called by his name when his classmates made fun of it. He asked for an English name. He also wanted to only speak English until I explained the importance of learning both English and Korean. I recognized that marginalized learners may adopt behaviors associated with the dominant culture (Fordham & Ogbu, 1986, as cited in Slazar, 2013, p. 123) and deny their language and heritage to assimilate into the education and social system, thus sacrificing a key aspect of their humanity (Slazar, 2013). I wasn’t sure whether my son was able to focus on his mathematics class that day when he was wrestling with his Korean name and identity. It was through my son’s experiences that I became cognizant of my identity and position as a person of color in the U.S.

Narrative 3- Navigating Injustice: Multiple Systems Affecting a Child with Disabilities

Unlike my first son, who was healthy from the start, my second son faced challenges during my pregnancy. Despite being born prematurely and undergoing surgery at 3 weeks old, we were immensely grateful for his arrival. We were once told that we may never see him walk, but he did eventually walk, and we celebrated every milestone even though it was delayed every time. When he was 3 years old, the childcare director informed me that the facility lacked teachers trained to teach children with special needs. My son avoided eye contact, did not respond to his name, did not interact with others, repetitively watched bridges and trains, had a lack of fear of danger, was often running around, and had extreme fear of certain noises. He was not learning much or quickly. His teachers had to focus more on preventing him from getting injured or leaving the classroom, rather than teaching him academically. Social learning couldn’t occur outside because he refused to go to the playground due to his severe fear of airplanes. He was transitioned to an exceptional student education program at a public school. Meanwhile, he remained on the long waiting list for a formal diagnosis from various hospitals.

My research indicated that early intervention was crucial for his development. This intervention would require speech therapy, occupational therapy, and applied behavior analysis therapy, amounting to a total of 40 hours per week. However, without a diagnosis and insurance, the cost of these therapies ranged from $100 to $200 per hour. Recognizing the significance of early intervention for my son’s future, I sought out as many therapies as possible while awaiting his diagnosis. Neither my husband nor I quit our jobs, given the costs of therapies, the privilege of insurance coverage, and our lack of knowledge to support him on our own.

During the brief period when my son was accompanied by a therapist at the public school, despite having a trained teacher, it became evident that the public school lacked sufficient resources to adequately support the needs of numerous students with disabilities in the classroom. When my son’s teacher resigned due to the lack of systemic school support, I decided to transfer him to a private school known for its inclusivity toward children like my son. Thankfully, the school allowed my child to be with neurotypical children and therapist(s). Collaborative meetings involving directors, teachers, therapists, and parents were held to address my son’s challenges of going outside due to airplanes and to devise solutions together. I felt valued as a parent in the decision-making process and welcomed into the school community. Resolving these external issues not only improved my son’s social and educational experiences but also facilitated mathematical learning. When my child came out from under the slide, where he was hiding from the airplanes, and ran with the other children outside, Ms. Amy Hofstetter, his classroom teacher, sent us videos of those moments. On another day, she sent a video of my child counting numbers along with other children. She told my son and us that she believes he is going to grow up to be an engineer and build bridges that she will drive over. Clinical leaders, including Violet Kyong and Ashley Lagani, came to our house to train my husband and me to teach our son. They often called me to share updates and decide on next steps together. Multiple classroom teachers told me that they had tears when my child was singing a hymn. The humanizing practices of care from my son’s teachers and therapists (Frerie, 1970) made a huge impact on my child’s and our learning.

As I reflect on these experiences, I find myself grappling with questions concerning both my own privilege and the systemic issues within our social structure. I wonder:

• If I didn’t have the flexibility in my schedule to bring my son to hospitals and therapies and to complete my work during evenings, weekends, and breaks, would I have been able to afford the necessary visits and communications for my child?;
• If I lacked insurance coverage, could I have afforded the extensive therapies my son needed?;
• Had I not been able to speak English, would I have been able to communicate these issues with those who influence decision-making and advocate for him?;
• If communities had not been accepting of neurodivergent children, would I have been able to open up about my son’s situations and access resources from others?; and
• If none of these circumstances had occurred, would my child have had the same learning opportunities that he currently has?

These questions highlight the privileges afforded to me, yet they also represent the systemic barriers that hinder the learning experiences of children with disabilities. I find myself questioning:

• Why aren’t there enough trained teachers to support children with disabilities in every childcare facility and schools?;
• Why are there lengthy waitlists for neurodivergent diagnoses at hospitals and therapies?;
• Why do certain therapies remain prohibitively expensive without adequate insurance coverage?; and
• Why aren’t teachers in public schools provided with sufficient support to teach students with disabilities?

When I began to learn firsthand about the struggles faced by individuals with multiple social identities that are marginalized by mainstream society, and how these identities can detrimentally impact their learning opportunities and access to resources, I felt a sense of despair. I grappled with feelings of guilt over my own privilege, my son’s situations, and even felt remorse for the time I spent on rest. Over time, however, I came to understand that addressing systemic issues requires sustained effort and collective action.

Narrative 4- Taking Action: Turning Struggles into Grassroot Efforts

While I recognized the need for broader societal change, I also realized the importance of making micro-level contributions within my immediate community. I couldn’t wait for society to transform, as my children and many others around me needed support and opportunities in the present moment. Thus, I channeled my energy into supporting grassroots community initiatives.

Through building mutual respect and collaboration with my son’s therapists and other parents and educators of neurodivergent students, and by actively participating in my child’s therapy sessions multiple times each week, I gleaned valuable insights and strategies for teaching mathematics. These strategies encompassed a range of approaches connected to existing literature, including multi-sensory instruction, gradual release of responsibility, and being flexible and allowing choices (Alstete et al., 2024; Jolivette et al., 2001; Spaeth & Pearson, 2023). I suggested to the clinical leader, Violet Kyong, a collaboration on the initiation of a free interactive mathematics program tailored for neurodivergent students. As the number of students and parents attending the program increased, Violet and I recognized the need for additional support. Dr. Alyson Adams responded to this need by providing extra resources for the summer program. Throughout the academic years, more neurodivergent students, parents, and educators joined. The program expanded further with additional supporters, including Dr. Kristen Apraiz, who served as an advisor, teacher, and mentor. Additional students at UF collaborated with us in planning, teaching, and reflecting on lessons. Parents, teachers, and therapists also participated, co-teaching portions of the lessons and offering valuable feedback for improvement. Lessons were implemented in clinic, on campus, in the outdoors, and at a museum. Upon hearing the needs for this program, Dr. Thomasenia Adams, a fellow mathematics educator and an associate dean at UF, shared how we could access possible funding sources (e.g., private donations, external funding from organizations, indirect cost) to support the development of curriculum and instructional materials and activities.

During each debriefing session with the teachers, parents, and therapists, they mentioned that they appreciated the interactive, multi-sensory nature, well-organized structure of the sessions and their connections to the real world, as well as the children’s engagement and learning of mathematics. They also noted that the sessions improved every time based on their feedback, and they gained approaches they could use with their families.

For my own child, thanks to the early intervention, humanizing practices implemented by numerous therapists and teachers, and additional support like one mentioned above, he learned to have better eye contact, be quicker in responding to his name, and have better interactions with others. There are often new behavior issues arising, but I see hope that with the community efforts like this, he will continue to grow at his own pace.

Final Thoughts

I hope that the stories I’ve shared serve as both a resource for those experiencing similar situations and a window for those who haven’t had these experiences. My own learning has been supported by parents whom I met along the way, who were courageous enough to share their stories and vulnerabilities, serving as a source of bravery, inspiration, and motivation for me. We often express to each other that parents of children with disabilities share a unique bond because we understand that their needs never take a day off for us. We envision a future where our children, regardless of their diverse social identities, are embraced and appreciated for their differences wherever they go. I am also sharing these stories, hoping that there are many more being shared by the mathematics teacher education community. I’ve noticed that as long as there are people who genuinely care about those who are marginalized, there is still hope and energy to move forward toward larger systemic changes to which our community can collectively contribute. What if all the mathematics teacher educators who have been involved in grassroots community efforts convene and brainstorm ideas for systemic changes toward inclusive classrooms and society? I’ve noticed there are hundreds of us who are already doing this work. Would this movement extend our grassroot efforts to systemic changes? I hope so, and if it does, I hope this happens sooner rather than later so that all of our children receive the support they deserve.

Acknowlegements

I am grateful to Drs. Lindsay Keazer, Jill Newton, Megan Wickstrom, and Thomasenia Adams for offering feedback on the drafts of this article. I am thankful to Drs. Hee-jeong Kim and Seunghyun Yeo for reviewing the article from perspectives in South Korea. I also appreciate Violet Kyong, Ashley Lagani, Amy Hofstetter, Dr. Kristen Apraiz, and Dr. Alyson Adams for their support and verification of the wording regarding their contributions as stated in this article.

References

Alstete, J. W., Meyer, J. P., & Beutell, N. J. (2024). Empowering neurodivergent students in management education with gradual release of responsibility. The International Journal of Management Education, 22(1), 100941.

del Carmen Salazar, M. (2013). A humanizing pedagogy: Reinventing the principles and practice of education as a journey toward liberation. Review of Research in Education, 37(1), 121-148.

Johnstone, B. (2001). Discourse analysis and narrative. In D. Schiffrin, D. Tannen & H. E. Hamilton (Eds.), The handbook of discourse analysis (pp. 635-649). Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing.

Jolivette, K., Wehby, J. H., Canale, J., & Massey, N. G. (2001). Effects of choice-making opportunities on the behavior of students with emotional and behavioral disorders. Behavioral Disorders, 26(2), 131-145.

Fordham, S., & Ogbu, J. U. (1986). Black students’ school success: Coping with the burden of acting White. Urban Review, 18, 176–206.

Freire, P. (1970). Pedagogy of the oppressed. New York: Continuum

Ladson-Billings, G. (1995). Toward a theory of culturally relevant pedagogy. American educational research journal, 32(3), 465-491.

Spaeth, E., & Pearson, A. (2023). A reflective analysis on how to promote a positive learning experience for neurodivergent students. Journal of Perspectives in Applied Academic Practice, 11(2).