Scholars have demonstrated that a range of institutions, organizations, and “social movement schools” aimed to advance the civil rights movement through education. What remains unclear is how those institutions balanced conversation, direct instruction, role-play, and other pedagogical methods. This article focuses on the Highlander Folk School, a radical, racially integrated institution located in the hills of Tennessee. Drawing upon audio tapes of civil rights workshops at Highlander, I argue that the folk school's workshops blended a variety of pedagogical styles in a way that previous scholarship has failed to acknowledge, and that close attention to Highlander's varied pedagogies can help us rethink the relationship between education and the civil rights movement.

Since the late nineteenth century, teachers have come together to found associations and unions in Europe and beyond. Drawing on oral histories, primary and secondary documents, and media reports, this paper delves into this rich historical background, leading to the founding of Education International in 1993. In particular it explores the relationships and tensions within and between these predecessor organizations, as well as the ways in which they interacted with the larger political forces of their times. Education International is now a significant organization, representing teachers and related workers situated across 178 countries. This paper attempts to provide a critical historical background for the development of this institution.

Conflict over the curriculum is nothing new in American public education, which has never been insulated from the culture wars. In the past few years, conflict over the teaching of race has torn through history and social studies classrooms, inciting the most serious fight over America's past since the last “history war” in the 1990s. At issue in the current conflict are debates over what schools should teach K-12 students about the history of race and racism in the United States. The chief flashpoint in this fight has been the New York Times’s 1619 Project, led by journalist Nikole Hannah-Jones, which seeks to retell the story of America's founding through the lens of racial inequality. Pushback on the 1619 Project has included the Trump administration's 1776 Commission, which produced a series of proposals seeking to ban 1619-aligned curricula and oppose critical race theory.

For this policy dialogue, the HEQ editors asked Donnalie Jamnah and Jonathan Zimmerman to discuss the latest round of history wars in K-12 public education, exploring the extent to which the past helps us understand the troubled present, as well as what the future might hold. Donnalie Jamnah is the K-12 Partnerships Manager for the education team at the Pulitzer Center on Crisis Reporting. In that role, she manages several programs including the 1619 Educator Network. Prior to joining the Pulitzer Center, she worked as a classroom teacher and instructional coach. Zimmerman is a past president of the History of Education Society and the Judy and Howard Berkowitz Professor in Education at the University of Pennsylvania. His work examines how education practices and policies have developed over time, and the myths that often cloud our understanding of teaching and learning. He is the author of nine books, including Whose America? Culture Wars in the Public Schools (2002), which the University of Chicago Press will release in a revised twentieth-anniversary edition in 2022.

HEQ policy dialogues are, by design, intended to promote an informal, free exchange of ideas between scholars. At the end of the exchange, we offer a list of references for readers who wish to follow up on sources relevant to the discussion.

In the mid to late nineteenth century, many missionary women from Western countries arrived in Japan to engage in educational work. They made a significant impact not only on the establishment of Christian kindergartens and kindergarten teacher training schools but also on the dissemination of Friedrich Froebel's theory of kindergarten education across Japan. This paper considers the role of religion in the missionary women's implementation of Froebel's theory to understand how Christian faith and values have influenced pedagogy and practice at their training schools, with a particular focus on the case of prominent American missionary and Froebelian Annie L. Howe (1852-1943) and her Glory Kindergarten teacher training school in Japan. By highlighting the curriculum and day-to-day training experiences at Howe's Froebelian kindergarten teacher training school, this study contributes to the body of knowledge about how teaching, learning, curriculum, and pedagogic discourse were transformed not just by the decisions of the Froebelians but also by Howe's Christian faith and values.

Starting in the late nineteenth century, the teaching profession became increasingly feminized. This article examines the results of this process, exploring the working and living conditions of rural female primary school teachers with a focus on the experiences of loneliness, harassment, and violence that they suffered in early twentieth-century Sweden. By investigating the public debate on these issues 1900–1940, we found that two main threats to the well-being of female teachers were identified: isolation and the threat of male violence. Male politicians as well as female authors and teachers acknowledged that female teachers faced loneliness, anxiety, and possible threats from violent men. The consequences of these threats were both emotional and practical, but the debate focused to a large extent on practical solutions such as providing the teachers with telephones, guard dogs, or weapons.

As the world reckons with the existential threat posed by climate change, the US remains deeply divided about the need for action. The solution to this problem, many have argued, begins with teaching environmentalism in primary and secondary schools and fostering receptivity to environmental issues and environmental science among the next generation. This strategy, of course, comes with its own set of challenges. Where does climate change fit in the school curriculum? What can teachers do in their classrooms to mitigate the influence of partisan politics? How can an abstract global phenomenon be made real at the local level? If K-12 education has a role to play in the broader project of environmental conservation, such questions need to be answered.

For this Policy Dialogue, the HEQ editors asked Zeke Baker and Hunter Gehlbach to explore the challenges and opportunities inherent in educating the next generation about climate change, drawing on analogues from the past and scholarship from the present to help us better understand the future. Gehlbach is a professor and vice dean at the Johns Hopkins University School of Education. Thanks to a mid-career fellowship from the Spencer Foundation, much of his research focus has shifted toward investigating how social psychological approaches might improve environmental education. Baker is an assistant professor of sociology at Sonoma State University. His research explores the development and use of climate science, especially insofar as climate knowledge is embedded in social relationships of power.

HEQ Policy Dialogues are, by design, intended to promote an informal, free exchange of ideas between scholars. At the end of the exchange, we offer references for readers who wish to follow up on sources relevant to the discussion.

This History of Education Society Presidential Address primarily utilizes evocative autoethnography and narrative inquiry to convey its main points. It is written in the storytelling tradition of the African American past and analyzes the lives of three generations of Black Mississippians as they navigated life in Jim Crow Mississippi. It highlights the impact and legacy the cotton economy had on the life opportunities of these Black Mississippians, and how the cumulative stories they shared within the family directly shaped the educational pursuits and outcomes of a present-day descendant.

By the end of the nineteenth century, social hygiene was a topic of great importance for states experiencing fears of national degeneration. The health of children was of particular concern, as it was thought to reflect the future health of the nation. Although this prompted nation-states like France, Germany, the United Kingdom, and the United States to develop intricate theories about the prevention and treatment of childhood illnesses, it was imperial Russia that became an unacknowledged trailblazer in the institutionalization and implementation of school hygiene measures. As this article will show, autocratic Russia's institutions and ideology allowed the tsarist state to surpass its Western neighbors in the drawing up and application of school hygiene measures.

This article examines Black parents’ efforts to establish and secure quality education for their children in antebellum Boston, Massachusetts. It situates the African School, a Black-owned cultural institution, within Black nationalist politics and reveals how the schoolhouse became a site of political tension between Black Bostonians and the Boston School Committee. Analyzing petitions, school records, and newspapers, this essay finds that the African School cultivated Black citizenship ideologies that prioritized political activism. This study invites new understandings of the political intersections of education and citizenship, and it illuminates the utility of Black nationalism in antebellum Boston.

This essay examines the first detailed study of gifted African American youth: Lillian Steele Proctor's master's thesis from the late 1920s on Black children in Washington, DC. Unlike formative research on gifted children by educational psychologists, Proctor's investigation emphasized children's experiences at school, home, and community in determining their abilities, opportunities, and accomplishments. Proctor's work also anticipated African American intellectuals’ critiques of racist claims about intelligence and giftedness that would flourish in the 1930s. In focusing on the nation's capital, her investigation drew from a municipality with a high proportion of African American residents that was segregated by law. Proctor pointed directly to systemic racism as both contributing to the relative invisibility of gifted African American youth and in thwarting opportunities to realize their intellectual potential. In an environment of racial subordination and segregation, these gifted children found themselves excluded from cultural resources and educational opportunities.

This article argues that the now-widespread US practice of residency-based tuition differentials for public higher education institutions is a twentieth-century form of higher education exceptionalism carved out in law and state policy, contradicting otherwise cherished and protected rights of free movement. This contradiction has been enabled in part by the vague standard of constitutional protection for the right to interstate mobility and in part by fiscal deference to public universities that quickly recognized the potential benefits of higher nonresident tuition rates. By both defining higher education as outside of the “necessities of life” and upholding a narrative that the children of state residents had a special entitlement to lower tuition as a kind of “legacy” taxpayer inheritance, courts, legislatures, and educational institutions built a modern higher education finance structure that discriminates against the mobility of “newcomers” and any student with a complicated family structure or residency status.

This essay examines the history of what is commonly called the town-gown relationship in American college towns in the six decades after the Second World War. A time of considerable expansion of higher education enrollment and function, the period also marks an increasing detachment of higher education institutions from their local communities. Once closely tied by university offices that advised the bulk of their students in off-campus housing, those bonds between town and gown began to come apart in the 1970s, due primarily to legal and economic factors that restricted higher education institutions’ outreach. Given the importance of off-campus life to college students, over half of whom have historically lived off campus, the essay argues for increased research on college towns in the history of higher education.

Margaret Cavendish was an unusually public figure in early modern England. She published widely under her own name on several secular subjects, including natural philosophy, inequality of the sexes, and educational theory. This article explores the development of Cavendish's educational theories through a detailed account of her life, which took place in three discrete stages. First, it examines her youth, when she was informally educated by family members and private tutors. It then follows her education as she traveled to Europe with her embattled queen and met her husband, William Cavendish. And finally, it shows that with William's support and patronage, Cavendish returned to England at the Restoration as a confident and mature female author. In doing so, this article addresses questions related to Cavendish's pedagogical beliefs, why those beliefs sometimes differed from her own experiences, and how she communicated these ideas through her literature.

This History of Education Society Presidential Address comes at the society's sixtieth anniversary and provides a new conceptual framework that foregrounds recognizing a “racist-blind,” and not a color-blind, ideology in the intentional and unequal design our educational past and present. It highlights systemic racism brought on by the dual pandemic moments of COVID-19 and global racial unrest, with a call to action for educational historians to lead in promoting systemic, institutional changes.

When the South Carolina legislature created the anti-NAACP oath in 1956, teachers across the state lost their positions. But it was the dismissal of twenty-one teachers at the Elloree Training School that captured the attention of the NAACP and Black media outlets. In the years following Brown v. Board of Education, South Carolina's Black and White communities went head-to-head in the battle over White supremacy versus expanded civil rights. The desegregation movement in 1955 and 1956 placed Black teachers’ activism in the spotlight—activism that mirrored what was happening in their community. This largely unknown episode of civil rights activism demonstrates that Black teachers were willing to serve not only as behind-the-scenes supporters in the equal education struggle but as frontline activists. Furthermore, it shows that South Carolina was an integral site of the long civil rights movement.

This paper explores trends in summer and intermittent teaching practices among African American students in the post-Civil War South, focusing on student activities in the field, the institutions they attended, and the communities they served. Transitioning out of the restrictions and impoverishment of slavery while simultaneously seeking to support themselves and others was an arduous and tenuous process. How could African American youth and young adults obtain the advanced education they sought while sustaining themselves in the process? Individual and family resources were limited for most, while ambitions, both personal and racial, loomed large. Teaching, widely recognized as a means to racial uplift, was the future occupation of choice for many of these students.

In 1976, after being imprisoned and forced into exile from his home country, Uruguay, Eduardo Galeano defiantly wrote “Defensa De La Palabra” (In Defense of the Word). In it, he argued that denying people access to their histories obstructs their vision of themselves as a people connected across time, and therefore restricts their ability to envision change for their future. He believed contributions to the revelation of the past depended on “the intensity level of the writer's responsiveness to his or her people—their roots, their vicissitudes, their destiny.” Forty-four years later, Galeano's reflections remain timely and methodologically instructive for those working at the nexus of history and education:

Land-grant colleges were created in the mid-nineteenth century when the federal government sold off public lands and allowed states to use that money to create colleges. The land that was sold to support colleges was available because of a deliberate project to dispossess American Indians of land they inhabited. By encouraging westward migration, touting the “civilizing” influence of education, emphasizing agricultural and scientific education to establish international strength, and erasing Native rights and history, the land-grant colleges can be seen as an element of settler colonialism. Native American dispossession was not merely an unfortunate by-product of the establishment of land-grant colleges; rather, the colleges exist only because of a state-sponsored system of Native dispossession.