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Literary study for critical global citizenship education Karsgaard, Carrie Anne 2015

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  i LITERARY STUDY FOR CRITICAL GLOBAL CITIZENSHIP EDUCATION by Carrie Anne Karsgaard B.Ed., University of Alberta 2001 M.A., Regent College, 2010   A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF  THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF   MASTER OF ARTS  in  THE COLLEGE OF GRADUATE STUDIES (Interdisciplinary Studies)   THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA (Okanagan)  August 2015  © Carrie Anne Karsgaard, 2015     ii Abstract  This thesis examines the role of literary studies in critical global citizenship education (GCE) within a Canadian high school context. Grounded in recent educational literature, which argues for more critical approaches of GCE (Andreotti 2006; Andreotti et al. 2010; Marshall 2009; Pashby 2011; Pike 2008; Richardson 2008; Schultz 2007; Tallon 2012; Taylor 2011), I will explore how to implement critical GCE within the concrete lessons and practices of English literature classrooms. Drawing primarily on Stone-Mediatore’s literary theory of reading for enlarged thought, I will propose a new framework of reading for critical global citizenship through critical and reflexive engagement with marginalized narratives. A critique of curriculum materials for Craig Kielburger’s Free the Children and Robin Wiszowaty’s My Maasai Life, developed by Me to We and Free the Children, reveals how Western-oriented texts and safe, traditional reading practices contribute to a form of global citizenship that perpetuates Western hegemony and limits expressions of citizenship to benevolent actions.  By contrast, by helping students engage critically and reflexively with marginalized experience narratives, educators may guide their students through a difficult and cyclical process, introduced by Andreotti and de Souza’s Through Other Eyes project (2008), of learning to unlearn, learning to listen, learning to learn, and learning to reach out. Through this process, students may begin to recognize their situatedness within mainstream frameworks that limit their abilities to consider alternative possibilities and futures. To demonstrate possibilities for implementing this fourfold reading process in the classroom, I will provide example reading activities for Chris Abani's novel, Song for Night, David Alexander Robertson and Madison Blackstone’s graphic novel, The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, and the documentary film, Dear Mandela.    iii Table of Contents   Abstract ......................................................................................................................................... ii Table of Contents ......................................................................................................................... iii Acknowledgements ........................................................................................................................ v Dedication ..................................................................................................................................... vi Introduction ................................................................................................................................... 1 Reading for Critical Global Citizenship Education (GCE) .................................................. 4 Curriculum Review .................................................................................................................. 6 A Model of Reading for Critical GCE .................................................................................... 8 Reading for Critical Global Citizenship Education ................................................................. 12 Part A: Critical Global Citizenship Education (GCE) ........................................................ 13 Part B: Reading for Critical Global Citizenship Education (GCE) .................................. 17 Sympathetic Reading .......................................................................................................... 18 Cosmopolitan Reading ....................................................................................................... 22 Humanitarian Reading ....................................................................................................... 25 Reading for Enlarged Thought ......................................................................................... 29 Reading in a Classroom ..................................................................................................... 34 Curriculum Review ..................................................................................................................... 35 Part A: Text Selection – Memoir Within the Context of Humanitarian Enterprise ........ 37 Part B: Text Reflection – Safe and Settled Reading Practices Maintain the Status Quo 46 Part C: Text Misdirection – Easy Answers Within a Development Context .................... 53 Humanitarian Agenda Prevents Critical GCE ................................................................ 67 A model of reading for critical GCE .......................................................................................... 69 Part A: Text Selection ............................................................................................................ 71 Part B: Reading Practices ...................................................................................................... 85 Learning to unlearn ............................................................................................................ 86 Learning to listen ................................................................................................................ 89   iv Learning to learn ................................................................................................................ 94 Learning to reach out ......................................................................................................... 99 The Cycle of Learning ...................................................................................................... 102 Conclusion .................................................................................................................................. 104 References ................................................................................................................................... 110      v Acknowledgements  I offer my gratitude to the various faculty and staff colleagues at UBC, as well as my friends and family, who have supported me through the past five years of my program.  I owe particular thanks to Dr. David Jefferess for being my anchor to academic life when professional life kept me away, advocating for me when my schedule and timelines did not fit the norm, and helping me critically examine ideas that were once only a hunch. His support was complemented by the insightful help of my committee members, Dr. Allison Hargreaves and Dr. Vanessa Andreotti.  Further, I could not have completed my M.A. without the consideration of my friends and colleagues at UBC; special thanks are owed to Leanne Isaak for five years of flexibility and to Leah Sanford, who helped me bring it home.  To every family member and friend who has patiently endured thesis-talk, cancelled coffees, and missed phone calls – and who have ever sent me an encouraging text or hilarious photo when they knew I was bent over my laptop – I extend my heartfelt thanks.  Most of all, thanks and love to my husband, Nathan, without whose daily support I could not have completed this project.     vi Dedication                         Tell me, what is it you plan to do With your one wild and precious life? – Mary Oliver    to Nathan – and this life with you     1 Introduction According to the Global Hive, “Canadians are hungry to become informed, engaged and active global citizens” (“About”) - but how are they being fed? While interest in global citizenship abounds, and research into more critical expressions of global citizenship education (GCE) is being conducted, a lack of global citizenship curriculum at the provincial level, alongside the development and promotion of such curriculum by NGO’s and humanitarian organizations, has led to GCE that “feeds” a normative, humanitarian notion of the Canadian global citizen as an enlightened, empathetic actor who can “make a difference” in the world. Unfortunately, such citizenship education lacks critical engagement with Western hegemony and imbalances in global power relations, oftentimes perpetuating the very social injustices that it wishes to address.  A survey of current research indicates an increasing interest in educating for global citizenship within Canadian schools: “across Canada, multiple forms of global citizenship education (GCE) have been incorporated into schools, whether as specific courses, discrete curriculum-content areas, or as globally-minded objectives linked to existing curriculum” (Eidoo 61). At the high school level, GCE is rarely provincially prescribed, and when it is, it typically appears within social studies classes; for instance, a unit on “Human Rights in the Asia Pacific 1931 - 1945: Social Responsibility and Global Citizenship” can be integrated into Social Studies 11, Law 12 or History 12 in BC. Within the arenas of social studies and history, specific courses are offered in some provinces that focus on global issues, such as Social Justice 12 in BC and the newly announced Global Issues: Citizenship and Sustainability (40S) in Manitoba. Alternatively, global citizenship may be mandated as an aspect of character development to be implemented across the curriculum, as is the current case in Alberta (“Character and Citizenship”). Or, as within the International Baccalaureate, it may be recommended as an “approach to learning, not   2 an addition to the curriculum… [including] specific attention to philosophy, pedagogy, content and assessment” (Davy 3).   Considering GCE’s diverse forms of implementation across subject areas and within diverse school communities, often without specific provincially mandated curricular outcomes, educators are facing “important questions…about what the global and/or globalization should look like in teaching and learning” (Eidoo 61). These questions are being tackled through ongoing research that addresses power and privilege through what may be defined as more critical notions of GCE (Andreotti 2006; Andreotti et al. 2010; Marshall 2009; Pashby 2011; Pike 2008; Richardson 2008; Schultz 2007; Tallon 2012; Taylor 2011). At the same time, the translation of such research into living schools and classrooms is a difficult and ongoing process. When it comes to the classroom, Steiner’s research, though it focuses in the UK not Canada, demonstrates that teachers feel more prepared to teach about less controversial global issues such as the environment, while more complex issues, “such as those to do with the injustice inherent in the current systems of the global economy, or highlighting the cultural achievements and self-sufficiency of Southern societies…receive far less attention” (qt. in Davies 14). Furthermore, Tallon (2012) has demonstrated how the implementation of NGO-developed GCE resources risks catering to the particular organization’s agenda and funding demands, rather than contributing to more critical GCE where issues of structural inequality and injustice are examined. As a result, the promotion of GCE in Canadian schools despite a lack of teacher preparedness to address controversial issues indicates a need to explore how complex global issues may be effectively integrated into curriculum.  A further issue pertains to the rootedness of GCE within Western contexts such as Canada, so that the very structure of GCE is predicated on a “normative view of a national citizen reaching out to and recognizing the ‘global other’” (Pashby 435). This means that when students are introduced to people in the global South, their relations with these people are   3 typically shaped by the responsibility to learn about and to subsequently help, rather than being shaped by the “ethical responsibility inherent to letting someone else exist beyond one person’s understanding of him or her” (436). This reinforcement of humanitarian relations within global citizenship discourse unfortunately exhibits a new form of imperialism, where “race discourse and the language of inferiority and dependence have been replaced by that of culture talk, nation-building, and global citizenship. The notion of aid, responsibility, and poverty-alleviation retain the Other as an object of benevolence. The global citizen is somehow naturally endowed with the ability and inclination to 'help' the Other. To be addressed as a global citizen is to be marked as benevolent" (Jefferess “Global Citizenship” 28). To exhibit such benevolence is part of Canadian identity, “one of the most significant narratives of the res publica, a kind of national calling” (Heron 5), so that Razack comments: “A Canadian today knows herself or himself as someone who comes from the nicest place on earth, as someone from a peacekeeping nation, and as a modest, self-deprecating individual who is able to gently teach Third World Others about civility" (qt. in Heron 5). Canada’s identity is constantly being secured through national stories that laud Canadian benevolence while simultaneously “conceal[ing] the colonial violence that marks the origin of the national subject" (Thobani 10) and reinforcing the poverty of those presumed to be in need of our help. The repetition and entrenchment of these stories even within the very discourse of global citizenship makes it difficult to dislodge privilege, making the task of educators challenging as they seek to deconstruct and question these representations (cf. Heron 11). However, in a system where many may take for granted our Canadian duty to help those in need beyond our borders, significant critiques of this humanitarian impetus indicate a responsibility of educators to consider alternative recommendations for how students may come to understand and respond to the needs of others.  In this context, this thesis aims to open conversations among literary educators regarding their opportunities to impact the evolving conversation around critical GCE. Literature   4 classrooms hold great potential to educate students for critical global citizenship through serious engagement with marginalized stories that introduce students to perspectives that test or subvert mainstream knowledges and structures, including the familiar humanitarian framework that dominates Western thinking about the global South.1 As the theories of reading introduced in this thesis will demonstrate, careful and critical reading of such marginalized narratives may lead students to question dominant Western representations and ideologies, and to subsequently reimagine how they as Canadian students may relate to those who are typically pictured as impoverished, global Others in need of our help. This is not easy work; through both the study of existing unit plans and the experimentation with new reading activities, this thesis demonstrates the opportunities and challenges facing critical global citizenship classrooms who aspire to read in ways that challenge dominant frameworks and thinking. By its very nature as a critical approach to GCE, this thesis will not provide definitive answers of how to read in this way. However, it will introduce literary educators to the careful, reflexive and ongoing work of learning to select and read stories that have been marginalized through mainstream Canadian discourse in order to imagine new ways of relating to those beyond our borders.   Reading for Critical Global Citizenship Education (GCE)  With current theories of critical GCE as the foundation of this study, the first chapter will examine various theories of reading across borders to explore how readers may approach texts about others elsewhere for the cultivation of critical global citizenship. While non-controversial, NGO-influenced curriculum reflects an approach to GCE that cultivates a paternalistic desire in students to “make a difference” in the world, current educational literature argues for more                                                      1 Recognizing that neither the “West” nor the “global South” are homogenous, these terms help to capture global power relations for the purposes of my discussion. I will use the term “global South” in place of “Third World” or “developing countries” throughout this thesis, as it places emphasis on power differentials, rather than on economic development or cultural differences.   5 critical approaches of GCE (Andreotti 2006; Andreotti et al. 2010); Marshall 2009; Pashby 2011; Pike 2008; Richardson 2008; Schultz 2007; Tallon 2012; Taylor 2011). In contrast with liberal approaches, which depend on a moral framework for understanding global relations, critical approaches to GCE draw on a number of theories that are critical of the historical and systemic reproduction of inequalities; they thus seek to expose and address assumptions, biases, contexts, imbalances, injustices, relationships and structures that maintain the privilege of some at the expense of others. Taking the subject positions of learners seriously, critical approaches involve a reflexive, learner-driven process that encourages students to engage with their “own and other perspectives to learn and transform [their] views/identities/relationships – to think otherwise” (“Soft Versus Critical” 7). Rather than promoting prescribed modes of behaviour, the goal of this approach is to encourage students to “analyze and experiment with other forms of seeing/thinking and being/relating to one another” (7), so that in their desire to “make a difference,” they do not simply project their assumptions and beliefs “as universal and reproduce power relations and violences similar to those in colonial times” (1). Instead, critical GCE involves a “pedagogy of transformation,” whereby students are encouraged to “challenge dominant ideologies, disassemble hierarchies of power, and question curricula and pedagogy” (Lapayese 500).  Critical GCE is by nature multidisciplinary, examining the intersections between such areas as literature, history, politics, art, philosophy, media and economics; however, there is value to considering how best to implement critical GCE within various disciplines, both through curriculum and pedagogy. In literature classrooms specifically, educators may turn to various theories of reading across borders consider how literature may open doors to the cultivation of critical global citizenship. For instance, liberal scholars such as Nussbaum (1997; 2002; 2010) and Appiah (2001) contribute a reading practice that promotes in students an awareness of complex humanity in those who are far removed by distance or difference. While it holds some   6 possibility, such reading does not address the historically and structurally rooted power imbalances between the readers and the “distant others,” instead appealing to common humanity for expressions of citizenship through sympathy, harmony and tolerance. Slaughter (2006) critiques liberal scholars for overestimating the human capability for sympathy, advocating instead for a more disinterested notion of reading, wherein readers associate with the humanitarian figure rather than the suffering Others with whom they seek to sympathize. While his form of “humanitarian reading” moves readers past sympathetic association with Others, his promotion of the humanitarian position creates limited space for the voices, perspectives and stories of those who are silenced or marginalized. By contrast, the standpoint theory of Stone-Mediatore (2003) provides guidance in reading for critical GCE in her notion of “enlarged thought,” whereby readers seriously engage with the marginalized experience narratives in order to question dominant knowledges and positions through the perspectives of those who have experienced oppression or exploitation within dominant society. The reflexivity involved in Stone-Mediatore’s notion of enlarged thought provides an appropriate space for critical GCE, as it leads to an examination of privilege and injustice within complex global relations.  Curriculum Review  With Stone-Mediatore’s standpoint theory (and less so, the work of Nussbaum, Appiah and Slaughter) as a theoretical framework for critical GCE through literary studies, it is necessary to consider how to implement such a reading practice within a classroom setting. The second chapter will thus turn to two high school English unit plans developed by the social enterprise, Me to We, and humanitarian organization, Free the Children, that claim to educate for global citizenship. In Canada, where there is little provincially mandated curriculum for global citizenship education within English courses, NGO’s and humanitarian organizations, as well as publishers of young adult literature, are providing teachers with literary texts and curricular   7 resources. One of the most prominent organizations influencing GCE within Canada is Me to We, a social enterprise designed to support Free the Children, an “international charity and educational partner, working both domestically and internationally to empower and enable youth to be agents of change” (FTC 2014). The impact of Me to We within Canada is widespread, impacting high school students via multiple channels including participation in a rally-style event called We Day, distribution of books through We Books, sale of handcrafted accessories and sustainable, sweatshop-free clothing through We Style, opportunities for volunteer travel and more. While all Me to We opportunities are school-friendly, We Act is the educational side of Me to We, providing schools with educational resources, including service campaigns with pre-packaged resources for schools, educational resources, textbooks and teachers' guides, and action kits to engage students actively in global and local issues. By completing We Act curriculum, schools become eligible to participate in the popular We Day, stadium-sized events where “world-renowned” speakers inspire students to “shift the world from 'me' to 'we' – from a focus on the individual to the power of community” (“Why We Day”). Since 2009, 5700 schools and 278,000 youth have participated in We Day across Canada and the UK, demonstrating the significant impact of Me to We in the Canadian high school landscape.  As part of We Act, Me to We has also created two “novel studies,” both of which focus on memoirs: Free the Children (1999) by Craig Kielburger, one of the organization’s founders, and My Maasai Life (2009) by Robin Wiszowaty, the Kenya Program Director for Free the Children. Both units create curricular ties to English courses and also aim to instruct for global citizenship. Within these units, however, global citizenship is assumed to be an expression of humanitarian impetus, where Canadian students are encouraged to emulate the benevolent work of exemplary humanitarians, Kielburger and Wiszowaty, as they learn about and are subsequently inspired to help needy, global Others through awareness campaigns and humanitarian projects. Rather than deconstructing their own assumptions, developing   8 understanding of the complexity of other people’s contexts, and coming to understand their relationships with those removed from them by distance and experience, students are led to pity what are constructed as suffering child laborers or impoverished Maasai through predominantly empathetic reading activities. Further, students do not face the unsettling complexity of their relations with the people in South Asia or Kenya, or the unsettling knowledge that their own positions and beliefs may contribute to the issues raised in these texts; instead, they are led to the easy answers that foreclose more critical, reflexive learning. As a result, both units unfortunately remove possibilities for transformative and critical GCE, resulting not in critical and creative engagement across borders but instead in unquestioned support of prescribed actions, particularly the fundraising work of international development agencies, according to the vision of Me to We.   A Model of Reading for Critical GCE    To begin a dialogue with educators regarding how critical GCE could instead be realized in literature classrooms, the final chapter will provide practical recommendations for both text selection and reading activities that implement the theories introduced in the first chapter. Drawing upon both theory and practical examples, this chapter will experiment with ways educators may construct their own literary units for critical GCE, inviting them to consider the selection of texts and reading activities that would best fit their own particular classroom settings. Rather than providing a formula, this chapter will use diverse examples to open conversations among literary educators who aspire to teach for critical global citizenship, yet who daily encounter the difficulties in learning from and responding to differently positioned Others. This is ongoing work for educators, as new methods may open further questions, and each solution may create other problems (cf. Andreotti “Education” 23). As a result, educators   9 require persistent reflexivity and creativity – not to mention a bit of boldness – as they experiment with new ways of teaching for critical global citizenship.  To begin, rather than selecting texts that further normalize existing assumptions through the representation of affluent, white humanitarian figures, educators may turn to Stone-Mediatore's recommendation to engage with marginalized stories as a basis for the difficult and creative work of developing literary units for critical GCE. Sourcing texts that express marginalized perspectives and question dominant assumptions may be challenging for educators, whose Western-published and -distributed school books are often co-authored, edited, produced, or marketed by Western writers, publishers, or NGO’s that inscribe Western structures and ideologies upon the texts (cf. Bryan & Bracken 2011; Schaffer & Smith 2014; Tallon 2012). Many experience narratives published by Western companies are constructed and promoted for the enlightenment of Western-based readers, intended to cultivate empathy, promote humanitarian agendas, and exotify marginalized narrators for western consumption (Schaffer & Smith 2014). In place of such stories, educators may source narratives that demonstrate the dignity and validity of their tellers and provide the oppositional knowledge that opens possibilities for the transformation of existing beliefs and institutions, even if these do not explicitly fit the autobiographical form. Chris Abani's novel, Song for Night, David Alexander Robertson and Madison Blackstone’s graphic novel, The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, and the documentary film, Dear Mandela, each hold such possibilities, introducing readers to other ways of thinking and being through both content and form.  While important, the text itself is insufficient to cultivating critical global citizenship, and educators will subsequently consider the reading practices through which students will critically and ethically engage with these stories. As a basis for such a reading practice, it is useful to turn to Andreotti and de Souza (2008), who introduce a helpful framework for critical GCE in their project, Through Other Eyes, a professional development resource package for educators.   10 Recognizing how the learning process is ongoing and iterative, Through Other Eyes  introduces a cyclical, four-fold process of learning to unlearn, learning to listen, learning to learn and learning to reach out (28-29) for the cultivation of critical GCE. Through Other Eyes does not address literature classrooms specifically, so it is necessary to extend this framework to recommend collective reading practices that cultivate critical GCE through literary study and to consider examples for practical implementation. This chapter will provide example activities, using the texts introduced above, as a starting point for educators.  So, in a literature classroom, students may learn to unlearn their assumptions by allowing marginalized narratives to expose the constructedness of their knowledge and beliefs. This may involve unpacking their own positions in relation to the narrator, including how their biases, preconceptions, stereotypes and knowledge gaps may limit their ability to understand another person. As they become aware of how their own assumptions have been shaped, students would be more ready to learn to truly listen to others' stories in ways that may make them uncomfortable or confused in the face of alternative viewpoints. Such uncomfortability is contrary to the empathy, enlightenment and easy answers that result from listening to others' stories in less critical ways, which are typical in more “soft” global citizenship classrooms where students may be asked to either dichotomize, by comparing us/them, or empathize, by putting themselves in other people’s shoes. Next, in learning to learn, students would contextualize the narrative within its greater literary, historical, political, and cultural frameworks to more deeply engage with its meaning, perhaps reading it alongside other dissenting texts with diverse forms, in order to consider multiple perspectives of and approaches to a single event or topic. Finally, students would learn to reach out by experimenting with the creation of innovative or oppositional texts and representations that connect their learning with the global community. As they experiment, they may begin to realize the limits of every solution, thus challenging them to think beyond quick fixes and to begin the process of learning to unlearn again. In these ways,   11 students would work through a cyclical process of reading that cultivates critical global citizenship through literary study.    12 Reading for Critical Global Citizenship Education  Within the context of NGO-influenced global citizenship education programs where students are frequently educated to “make a difference,” recent educational literature argues for more critical approaches of GCE that are not grounded in paternalistic attitudes towards global Others or linked with humanitarian marketing. Grounded instead in postcolonialism, critical approaches to GCE question the structures, beliefs and power relations that uphold the privilege of some at the expense of others. Taking the subject positions of learners seriously, critical GCE faces students with their culpability in global injustice, encouraging them to engage in a process of transformation whereby their growing understanding of global power imbalances and the situations of globally marginalized Others leads to the development of imaginative, relational and accountable responses.   While critical GCE is not discipline-specific, and in fact spans everything from literature to economics, history to philosophy, there is still work to be done in determining how best to pedagogically implement critical GCE within various disciplines. My specific focus is to develop the critical approach to GCE within the area of literary study by reviewing various theories of reading across borders in order to discern effective means of reading for the cultivation of critical global citizenship. My analysis will begin with the contributions of liberal scholars such as Nussbaum and Appiah, whose notions of reading encourage connection with a common humanity that results in the creation of sympathy, harmony, and tolerance across borders. I will read these liberal scholars against Slaughter (2006), who critiques them for overestimating the human capability for sympathy and instead advocates a more disinterested notion of reading, which focuses on the humanitarian figure rather than the suffering Others. Finally, I will turn to the standpoint theory of Stone-Mediatore (2003), who provides the greatest guidance in reading for critical GCE in her notion of “enlarged thought,” whereby readers   13 question dominant knowledges and positions by taking the complex perspectives of others seriously.  Part A: Critical Global Citizenship Education (GCE)  Before exploring how literary theorists can contribute to the field of critical GCE, it is necessary to establish some common themes that emerge in existing literature (Andreotti 2006; Andreotti et al. 2010; Marshall 2009; Pashby 2011; Pike 2008; Richardson 2008; Schultz 2007; Tallon 2012; Taylor 2011). Only from such a basis is it possible to explore how theories of reading may complement and build upon existing scholarship to provide means of reading for the development of critical global citizenship. To begin, critical approaches contrast with what Andreotti (2006) refers to as “soft” notions of GCE, which tend to empower citizens to act based on normative humanitarian or moral principles in the hopes of promoting development, tolerance and equality in areas that are conceived as undeveloped, inferior or primitive. Unlike soft GCE, which draws citizens into responsibility for the Other based on normative definitions of the “ideal” world, critical approaches work to draw citizens into political and ethical responsibility towards the other, as citizens respond in dialogue with Others from whom they seek to learn (6). Rather than depending on a moral framework for understanding global relations, critical approaches seek to expose and address assumptions, biases, contexts, imbalances, injustices, relationships and structures. Postcolonial in its orientation, critical GCE involves a reflexive, learner-driven process whereby diverse students are encouraged to do the hard work of facing their own complicity in global power relations and subsequently striving to imagine ways to engage in more “informed, responsible and ethical action” (7).   In efforts to reverse the legacy of colonialism, critical GCE works towards the unlearning of privilege and the questioning of complex hegemonic “structures, systems, assumptions, power relations and attitudes that create and maintain exploitation and enforced disempowerment”   14 (Andreotti “Soft” 6). In order to avoid the “[unintentional repetition of] the historical patterns that maintain the conditions of inequality and injustice” (Andreotti & Pashby 423), critically-minded educators take active steps to expose the epistemic violence of colonialism, whereby Others are viewed as inferior or undeveloped through a normative Western lens. As an example, Andreotti’s HEADS UP educational tool helps learners unpack the complex “social and historical forces” (“Editor’s Preface: HEADS UP” 1) that bind people together so that we do not attempt simple solutions to complex problems when striving for social justice. The tool uses an acronym to help learners reflect on how their solutions or initiatives may inadvertently reproduce the historical patterns of hegemony, ethnocentrism, ahistoricism, depoliticization, salvationism, un-complicated solutions and paternalism (cf. 2). While it may not be possible to avoid these patterns altogether, critical GCE seeks ongoing work towards more ethical ways of relating. Critical GCE thus involves a degree of dismantling or “learning to unlearn,” as students learn to recognize the contextual and historical nature of their knowledges and identities (cf. Andreotti & de Souza, “Challenges and Tensions” 2010), as well as how such knowledge shapes their engagement with global Others.  This form of GCE is a critical and reflexive learner-driven process that creates space for students to engage with their “own and other perspectives to learn and transform [their] views/identities/relationships – to think otherwise” (Andreotti “Soft” 7). The goal of this approach is to encourage students to “analyze and experiment with other forms of seeing/thinking and being/relating to one another” (7), so that in their desire to “make a difference,” they do not simply project their assumptions and beliefs “as universal and reproduce power relations and violences similar to those in colonial times” (1). Such encounters with other ways of seeing and being may be destabilizing, as learners are faced with “letting someone else exist beyond one person’s understanding of him or her” (Pashby 436). This destabilization prevents the commodification of others as those to be known and mastered, whose stories   15 become “’learning experiences’ with curative effects for normalized privileged first world learners…[promising] moral sanitization and absolution from the complex, historically implicated locations inhabited by privileged readers” (Taylor 179). Instead, students engage in a process of “Learning to listen,” whereby they learn to continually question and examine their own perspectives as they face difference in the stories and experiences of Others (Andreotti & de Souza “Challenges and Tensions” 82). In this way, students are encouraged to struggle through their encounters with others to come to a deeper understanding of global relationality and responsibility. Within this context, the challenge of the educator is to “hold open the crisis of implication without the consolation of innocence or despair” (Taylor 193), allowing learners to remain in the “process of becoming.”  As learners are faced “with infinite responsibility for the Other’s suffering” (189), there is the possibility that they may be paralyzed by guilt, internal conflict and feelings of helplessness. As a result, educators may find themselves offering consolation to students, providing “moral sanitization and absolution from the complex, historically implicated locations inhabited by privileged readers” (179). With easy absolution, however, Simon argues that students may find themselves “feeling good about feeling bad” (qt. in Taylor 181), with the unfortunate result being the pre-empting of responsibility as emotional responses become ends in themselves. As neither helplessness nor consolation are helpful in cultivating critical global citizenship, Andreotti recommends creating an educational atmosphere of “sceptical optimism,” whereby learners are supported through “on-going wrestling with concepts and contexts, choices and implications…towards deeper and more ethical ways of relating to others and to the world” (“Heads Up” 2). Students thus engage in “learning to learn,” coming to appreciate that “conflict is a productive component of learning and that difference is what makes dialogue and learning relevant” (Andreotti  and de Souza “Challenges and Tensions” 82).   16 Diverse students will work through this process differently as they each, through their various subject positions, struggle with their culpability in global relations and with how they may choose to respond. Through a contextual and transdisciplinary approach, critical GCE locates diverse students “within differentiated sets of histories, experiences, literacies, and values” (Giroux 66) then engages seriously with what is required in building a more just global society. Such serious engagement would avoid leading students to either a “passive empathy,” whereby students’ emotional reactions are absolved through denial of responsibility or power relations (Tallon 8), or alternatively to a prescribed mode of action, whereby students are encouraged to follow traditional development patterns of charitable help or financial support. Within this diverse and transformational approach, there is space to question the “model” global citizen, typically “situated in a Western neo-liberal and arguably economically stable country context (Marshall 9), as well as typical modes of “impassioned” global citizenship that are the stuff of humanitarian marketing. Instead, critical GCE involves a “pedagogy of transformation,” whereby students are encouraged to “challenge dominant ideologies, disassemble hierarchies of power, and question curricula and pedagogy” (Lapayese 500). According to Shultz, such a transformational approach is key to establishing “new ways of negotiating between local and global actions and agenda, resolving conflict, and acting in solidarity” (qt. in Pashby 61) within the context of complex and dynamic global relationships. In thus “learning to reach out,” students begin to apply learning to diverse contexts and relationships as they continue to “reflect and explore new ways of being, thinking, doing, knowing and relating” (Andreotti and de Souza “Challenges and Tensions” 83) within the context of mutual learning and ongoing growth. The end of critical GCE is not a final end, as such engagement necessarily calls for a “new cycle of unlearning, listening, learning and reaching out again at another level” (83). The theoretical framework outlined above is helpful in providing an educational ideal as teachers look to educate for critical global citizenship. At the same time, it is necessary to move   17 beyond theory and abstraction to consider how to implement critical GCE within and across various disciplines. In this vein, I turn now to literary theory for ideas of how to read stories of and by Others for the cultivation of critical global citizenship. In doing so, I will consider how readers may prevent the domestication of Others’ stories within dominant discourse so that the power of such stories remains to create dialogue across borders that challenges dominant attitudes, beliefs and structures that privilege some at the expense of others.  Part B: Reading for Critical Global Citizenship Education (GCE)  Through literature, various theorists argue that readers are able to cultivate global citizenship by engaging imaginatively with those who are marginalized within a dominant society (Nussbaum and Stone-Mediatore), those who are separated by difference, time or distance from oneself (Appiah) or those who are suffering while others remain free (Slaughter). Not all theorists, however, present effective means of cultivating critical global citizenship through reading. These theories must be closely examined to discover ways of reading that open dialogue across difference, power imbalances, and distance. For readers in positions of privilege, reading for critical global citizenship must involve serious listening to the voices of Others that may question or oppose dominant structures and epistemologies as they imagine alternative futures. Within this context, Nussbaum, Appiah and Slaughter provide the beginnings of reading for critical GCE, whereby readers are introduced to the complexity and diversity of humanity. However, all three tend to reinforce Western privilege and minimize the impact of alternative voices within a dominant culture through their impetus to either sympathize with or provide help for suffering or marginalized Others. By contrast, Stone-Mediatore encourages readers to seriously engage with Others’ stories in order to question dominant knowledges and positions, leading to greater opportunities for imaginative dialogue and potential change.    18  Sympathetic Reading  Liberal scholars such as Nussbaum and Appiah emphasize the value of reading in cultivating sympathy for others and openness to diversity based on common humanity or a sense of global interconnectedness. Within a globalized and profit-driven world that places increasing emphasis on the sciences and technical education, Nussbaum advocates for a greater integration of the humanities in all levels of American education, as they are critical to cultivating “abilities crucial to the health of any democracy internally, and to the creation of a decent world culture capable of constructively addressing the world’s most pressing problems” (Not for Profit 26). The humanities in general, and literature in particular, address students’ “blind spots, groups within their culture and also groups abroad that are especially likely to be dealt with ignorantly and obtusely” (126). Nussbaum advocates for the study of global issues within an interdisciplinary context, whereby students can develop a more complex understanding of the economic, political and historical arrangements that have shaped the experiences and life opportunities of others elsewhere (101). Within this interdisciplinary context, Nussbaum emphasizes the role of reading in developing “narrative imagination,” whereby students are drawn to understand the situations of people different from themselves (“Education for Citizenship” 300). Drawing upon Ralph Ellison’s The Invisible Man to demonstrate how people are often blind to the realities of those around them, she recommends readings as a way to cultivate a “compassionate vision of the different” (Cultivating 89), which is key to world citizenship. In order to develop narrative imagination, she calls for the “incorporation of works that confront students vividly with the experience of minority groups in their own society and of people in distant nations…. [as the] moral imagination can often become lazy, according sympathy to the near and the familiar, but   19 refusing it to people who look different” (300). Unlike with other disciplines, poetry and the arts have a particular role in communicating the soul within another’s body (Not for Profit 121), in providing an impactful encounter with another who is “neither a mere object nor a passive recipient of benefits and satisfactions. At the same time, it promotes a vivid awareness of need and disadvantage, and in that sense gives substance to the abstract desire for justice” (Cultivating 97). Such literary confrontation with the needs and struggles of others will likely disturb readers, who should be prevented from deterioration “into a self-congratulatory wallowing in [their] own compassionate tendencies” (98), instead being encouraged to consider moral and social responses. In this way, reading can lead to an expanded notion of humanity and an expanded moral community, which go beyond the borders of a student’s immediate community.  Nussbaum contributes to the field of critical GCE by acknowledging the role of literature in spaces where global relations may be reduced to a discourse of rights, statistics and data that tend to reduce or objectify others. In contrast with reports and statistics, narratives and poetry provide key means of resistance, whereby the colonized and marginalized can express their subjectivity and speak into hegemonic spaces. As Daniel Heath Justice expresses in relation to Indigenous writers: “Native writers of poetry, prose fiction, and nonfiction speak to the living realities of struggle and possibility among Indigenous peoples; they challenge both Natives and non-Natives to surrender stereotypes, committing ourselves instead to untangling colonialism from our minds, spirits, and bodies” (5). As learners are encouraged to connect with literature, whether of marginalized Indigenous peoples or those who are marginalized on a global scale, they are provided with opportunities “to see complex humanity in places where they are most accustomed to deny it” through a “literary education…that focuses on groups with which our citizens’ eyes have particular difficulty” (Not for Profit 301). Through story and imagination, students may be thus drawn into meaningful encounters with Others that may otherwise remain invisible.   20 At the same time, Nussbaum’s “narrative imagination” is limited in its ability to contribute to critical GCE. Nussbaum does not question normative assumptions and beliefs of an ideal “Western-oriented” world, where engagements with globally marginalized others are primarily based on compassion and benevolence. Though she advocates for the study of diverse literatures within American schools and universities, Nussbaum still upholds detailed knowledge of local literature foremost (Cultivating 68), maintaining the centrality of American culture. In an additive approach, Nussbaum layers upon local literature the inclusion of “works that give voice to the experiences of groups in our society that we urgently need to understand, such as members of other cultures, ethnic and racial minorities, women, and lesbians and gay men” (99-100). As a result, Nussbaum maintains a universalized Western approach whereby difference is domesticated and objectified, containing only “beliefs, opinions, intuitive or subjective understandings, which, at the most, may become objects or raw materials for scientific enquiry” (Andreotti “Engaging” 8) rather than alternative ways of seeing that could challenge Western reasoning. Through such an additive approach, readers are led not to question their privilege but rather to feel condescension or care for the Other. The kind of understanding Nussbaum advocates for is limited by its empathetic and compassionate nature, whereby the normalized American reader begins to “[recognize] that another person, in some ways similar to oneself, has suffered some significant pain or misfortune in a way for which that person is not, or not fully, to blame” (Cultivating 90-91). While there is benefit in working to understand the perspectives and situations of others, this focus on mutual love and respect forecloses exploration of learners’ diverse responses to texts, so that other emotional responses, such as “guilt, (and anger at being made to feel guilty), distrust, selfishness, apathy, boredom or cynicism are not entertained nor explored” (Tallon 10). Additionally, the emphasis on empathy leaves no need for readers to face their complicity in the materiality of difference (Friedman 598). Instead, compassion leads either   21 to passivity, as empathy becomes an end in itself (cf. Tallon 8), or to duties towards the Other that take the form of benevolent help (cf. Friedman 590). As a result, Nussbaum’s notion of narrative imagination leads to a more “soft” than critical global citizenship education, as it does not address the historically and structurally rooted power imbalances between the readers and the “distant others.”   Furthermore, as Todd argues, Nussbaum’s optimistic view of a common humanity is problematic as it dismisses the dark and violent aspects of humanity as “inhuman.”  By refusing to face the darker aspects of humanity, favouring instead a compassionate or empathetic approach, educators are susceptible to “sentimentalism, idealism, or false hope” (Todd 9), leaving students “without a language for dealing with the antagonistic elements of human interaction” (14). Additionally, in dismissing violent and hateful acts as inhuman, educators “[risk] counting some persons ‘in’ while leaving others (those who express violence and hatred, for instance) ‘out’ … further mask[ing] how each one of us is capable of committing harm in the first place” (21). By dismissing human capability for harm, Nussbaum thus removes the possibility for learners’ culpability in global issues; if students are simply cultivating their human capacities for sympathy and compassion through narrative imagination, they cannot be brought to accountability for their own contributions to the suffering of others. Thus, rather than cultivating a universal notion of humanity that dismisses its inherent violence, Todd argues that educators face humanity in all of its diversity and darkness, educating students to respond to the threat of human violence and to the particularities of human difference. As a result, while Nussbaum recognizes the power of literature to communicate complex humanity across difference, that very power is limited by its quick domestication into normative Western views of others as those deserving of benevolence. Without exposing the dark sides of humanity or allowing readers to feel discomfort so they question their own views and assumptions, Nussbaum’s conception of narrative imagination lends only a little to the field of critical GCE.   22  Cosmopolitan Reading  Appiah’s notion of a “cosmopolitan reading practice,” while similar to Nussbaum’s “narrative imagination” in some ways, engages readers in a dialogue with distant others that goes beyond sympathy. Appiah begins his essay on “Cosmopolitan Reading” similarly to Nussbaum by introducing how reading is a form of “travel” that can develop mutual tolerance, sympathy, and even love across borders. He goes on, however, to critique the idea that a shared biology provides humanity with a “shared ethical nature” (Appiah 220) that can be discovered and cultivated through reading. Instead, he recommends travelling through reading “across gaps of space, time and difference” (224) not to find shared culture, principles or understanding, but to imaginatively engage in conversation across difference. In contrast with Richard Rorty and others who advocate for universal “points of agreement at the level of principle” (221), Appiah develops the notion of “dialogical universalism,” whereby readers are invited through a story to connect to particulars, to “identify points of agreement that are…local and contingent” (221) rather than universal. Appiah acknowledges the dynamic nature of culture, the “extraordinary diversity of human responses to the world and the myriad points of intersection of those various responses” (225), and encourages ongoing dialogue, through reading, with this diversity of expressions. Thus, readers are called to respond openly and imaginatively to diverse Others, rather than following universal guiding principles in response to a common humanity. In acknowledging the layered, dynamic and diverse nature of identity and culture, Appiah’s cosmopolitan reading practice harmonizes with Andreotti’s recommendation to listen “seriously and respectfully to Southern voices” in a way that involves “critical engagement on the part of non-Southern people with the individual perspectives presented - and not the passive acceptance of what is said by the Southern person as an expression of what the 'oppressed'   23 continent, nation or ethnic group 'thinks'" (“Postcolonial” 7). He uses the example of Zimbabwean novelist, Tsitsi Dangaremba, who experiments with Western narrative norms and subject matter, and avoids the “telltale marks for the author addressing an Other from Elsewhere” (Appiah 212) in order to create dialogue across distance rather than packaging her work for a “moral tourist,” who could more easily consume her novel. From the very first line of her novel, “I was not sorry when my brother died,” readers are confronted with how their reading of the story is conditioned by their presumed “knowledge” of female Africans writing within a particular time period and presumptions about gender relations within this context, as well as how this knowledge and these presumptions shape their reactions to this story (208). Dangaremba anticipates her readers’ responses and provides further context and complexity, drawing her readers to confront the particulars of her protagonist’s position as an escapee, family member and rebel, rather than simply dismissing her protagonist as “callous” (209) for delivering this introductory statement. By anticipating her readers’ assumptions and providing deeper contextualization, Dangaremba prevents readers from forming generalizations about Others, instead encouraging them to face the intersections of various factors such as race, class or gender in a person’s identity (cf. Razack 40), allowing for a more nuanced response. In addressing such particulars within the subject positions of Others, Appiah’s cosmopolitan reading would thus contribute further to a critical GCE, as students are challenged to acknowledge diverse and changing structures, assumptions, attitudes and power relations within various contexts (c.f. Andreotti, “Soft” 6).  While Appiah’s more critical and nuanced reading practice provides a way into more meaningful engagement with Others, the result of cosmopolitan reading does not go beyond the sympathetic response called for by Nussbam: "we travel in books to learn 'mutual toleration,' even the sympathy and concern for others…[that may be] love” (Appiah 203). For Appiah, the emphasis remains on the particularities of the story’s subject, without acknowledgement that   24 readers also hold diverse subject positions and only partial knowledge, which could be challenged, reconsidered, or altered in response to the story. With love and tolerance as the expected result, a safari-style reading practice, as he calls it, runs the risk of exotifying Others, where their difference serves to edify or entertain the readers rather than to challenge. In being edified, it becomes more difficult for readers to truly listen to the subversive aspects of Others’ stories; readers “cannot hear because of the benefit [they] derive from hearing [sad stories]” (Razack 48). Deafened to oppositional voices, readers will not respond to Others’ stories by questioning their relationality to these Others, evaluating their own beliefs and assumptions or recognizing their complicity in global power imbalances. To prevent the silencing of subversive voices, time must thus be given to “understanding the meaning of privilege from our various subject positions. Colonizations from within and without will become a major theme and not only in terms of what colonization means for Third World peoples but also how it constitutes the colonizers themselves” (Razack 54). In this way, to contribute more powerfully to critical GCE, Appiah’s cosmopolitan reading practice could be expanded to include possibilities for the unsettling power of stories, in addition to their contribution to the development of concern and sympathy.  Thus, though they provide starting points for reading to cultivate global citizenship, both Nussbaum and Appiah thus demonstrate aspects of what Andreotti terms the “darker side of modernity,” whereby the “systemic production of discrimination and inequalities [is inevitably] negated so that we can continue to believe that we are good altruistic people moving ‘ahead’ in linear time and history towards a homogenous better future of rational consensual unanimity” (“Renegotiating” 1). The emphasis on sympathy and love in response to Others’ stories reflects the role of reading in Western edification that tends to privilege “European/Western epistemologies and ‘forget’, silence, repress or damn ‘other’ epistemologies” (Andreotti “Engaging” 13). Additionally, without allowing stories to powerfully disrupt and challenge   25 Western epistemologies, difference is instead domesticated and included “(to tick the box of Eurocentric tolerance) only ‘as long as’ these voices say what the neutral-universalist subject wants to hear” (13). As the dichotomy between the superior/developed/civilized self and the inferior/underdeveloped/uncivilized Other remain largely unquestioned, subsequent relationships between the self and Other will likely result in either “disinterest (not wanting to be bothered by the Other) or an active desire to help or save the Other” (“Renegotiating” 2). To counter these responses, a theory of reading is necessary that acknowledges “our own inadequacy to even recognize other possibilities – our epistemic blindness” (9) and that encourages openness to “knowing differently, partially and provisionally, from a location other than that one has inherited” (6). Such a reading practice could open possibilities for transformation and meaningful action that go beyond pity and sympathy to more serious and imaginative consideration of more ethical, relational and responsible means of engagement with Others.  Humanitarian Reading   Further to the critique of pity and sympathy outlined above, Slaughter challenges Nussbaum and other liberal reading practices for being “ethically ambitious” by believing that reading can help us identify imaginatively “with the suffering of people unlike us” (Slaughter 92). In readers’ attempts to identify with sufferers, Slaughter recognizes “the philosophical and practical limits of our generous imaginings, our historically feeble capacity to imagine ourselves in the place of the suffering other” (102). Instead of calling readers to empathize with the sufferer, Slaughter demonstrates how Dunant’s Souvenir de Solférino invites readers to instead imagine themselves in the position of the humanitarian, so they may reflect upon their own capacity to respond to suffering, rather than to empathize with it. Un Souvenir de Soldering is Dunant’s account of witnessing wounded soldiers at the Battle of Solférino in 1859 and subsequent mobilization of civilians to care for soldiers from both the Austrian and French sides   26 of the conflict. His work eventually resulted in both the founding of the International Committee of the Red Cross and his ideas led to the signing of the first Geneva Convention in 1864. Drawing on this text, Slaughter thus opens up a new position for readers within critical GCE; rather than viewing themselves as benevolent sympathizers, readers are invited to imagine themselves as the kinds of people who would respond in care to anyone who required it. Interestingly, Slaughter’s humanitarian figure is pictured as accidental or indifferent, so that almost anyone (even a horse!) could be an agent of humanitarian assistance; it is “simply a position in a grammar of relief that may be occupied by anyone who disregards nationality in the face of human suffering” (99). Dunant is presented as modeling this humanitarian “indifference to difference,” and “anyone who exhibits similar pity and compassion for the sufferings of others will discover a similar route” (100). In this way, a story may invite empathy not with the sufferers but with the humanitarian, leading readers to imagine themselves to be the “kind of people” who would respond similarly in a crisis. Slaughter thus contributes to critical CGE by overturning neo-colonial or benevolent attitudes that could result from Nussbaum’s or Appiah’s sympathetic notions of reading, instead advocating for a kind of humanitarian reading characterized by indifference, whereby “cosmopolitan fellow feeling matches the indifference and disregard for nationality that suffering and death themselves [display] on the battlefield” (Slaughter 95). In this way, he addresses the issue created by liberals who “imagine a world in which the privileged portion has cultivated capacities for sentimental identification with the despised and oppressed; a larger portion of the world (the unsympathetic sufferers) contains endless stocks of sad and sentimental stories, the raw materials for the refinement of the humanitarian imagination” (105). After all, according to his reading of Dunant, anyone may act as a humanitarian. Furthermore, he dignifies storytellers of suffering by drawing attention to the generosity of sharing such stories, whereby the “narrator imagines a reader or listener who will respond to both the injustice of the   27 appellant’s suffering and his or her shared humanity” (105). In this way, it is the storyteller as well as the reader who holds capacity for compassion and generosity. Through such reversals, Slaughter’s reading practice thus challenges liberal notions of reading that lead to relations of sympathy and pity for the Other. There are limits to Slaughter’s notion of humanitarian reading, however, with the practical humanitarian disposition being presented as one of “indifference to difference” (Slaughter 95). The reduction of all people to “grammatical units,” where nationality and individual subjective differences are removed in the face of death and where the humanitarian could validly be either an individual or a horse certainly upsets normative power structures where the humanitarian is set in a position of privilege and benevolence. At the same time, this indifference to difference does not create space to question how people are, in fact, different: why one side is winning the war, why the war is being fought in the first place, or why these particular men are on the battlefield. In this way, this humanitarian reading practice ignores the historical power inequalities and complex relationality embedded in global issues. Slaughter describes how “Dunant’s vision of a world of suffering and security is not static; it is a world of changing imbalances in fortune and misfortune…the boundaries across which the humanitarian imagination must work are constantly shifting” (104). While contexts of suffering do indeed shift, there are also long-entrenched patterns of power, colonialism and privilege that continue to represent some as sufferers and some as humanitarians. Slaughter takes a first step at removing this dichotomy through the disinterested humanitarian; however, his notion of reading creates limited space for the voices, perspectives, and stories of the silent sufferers to question the dominant voices, perspectives, and power of those in humanitarian positions. As a result, his approach is limited in its ability to contribute to the field of critical GCE. Furthermore, by arguing that anyone may act as a humanitarian, Slaughter does not address the fact that humanitarianism (or, similarly, global citizenship) may be conceived and   28 expressed differently by people with different subject positions. Pashby (2011) and others (Andreotti 2006; Lapayese 2003) criticize this Westernization of the global citizen, which is based on the “inherent assumption that citizen identities are neutral and transferrable to any local, national or global context” (“Cultivating” 438). Instead, she calls for the inclusion of “a range of epistemologies and ontological traditions so that multiple ‘global citizen selves’ are conceptualized not solely through the Western norm, but also through diverse perspectives that challenge Western humanism and that employ non-Western ontologies to define global citizenship” (439). Thus, reading for global citizenship would not only involve the recognition that anyone may act as a citizen or humanitarian, but that citizenship may be expressed differently according to a person’s positioning, including everything from their access to political decision-making to their ability to publicly express agency (cf. Lapayese 497). Readers should thus be led to question the projection of Western citizenship norms onto global Others as they explore alternative expressions of global citizenship. As a result, though he moves to disrupt the categories of sufferer and humanitarian, Slaughter does not invite readers to question these categories and imagine new possibilities for engagement with suffering. While Slaughter opens the notion of “humanitarian” beyond the typical Western position, there is no question that the primary method of engagement with suffering is through humanitarian aid. Rather than imagining new ways of engaging with others, Slaughter presents a very limited call on the reader to respond with care, or at least to “avoid deliberately stepping on the heads of the dead and dying if…we were to find ourselves unexpectedly travelling through a battlefield” (Slaughter 103). This limited humanitarian response is perhaps a more realistic expectation of the reader than the empathy and compassion recommended by liberal scholars. However, within the context of critical GCE, further responsibility could be placed on the reader to reflect meaningfully upon her own position, to listen seriously to the “radical and disruptive voice of the Other” (Tallon 10), and to work to   29 discover what an appropriate response may be, given the context.  As readers are encouraged to “reflect critically on the legacies and processes of their cultures and contexts, to imagine different futures and to take responsibility for their decisions and actions” (Andreotti “Soft” 6), they may be led beyond a humanitarian response to a more political or ethical engagement with Others.  Reading for Enlarged Thought   Beyond the scholars outlined above, Stone-Mediatore’s work with stories and standpoint theory contributes the most to the field of critical GCE by advocating critical engagement with dominant perspectives and power imbalances by reading through the perspectives of Others. More specifically, she argues for a reading from the lives of marginalized Others that leads to a deeper understanding of one’s own standpoint, as well as one’s relations with the marginalized. Unlike the previous scholars, whose theories focus explicitly on reading for global citizenship or humanitarianism, she advocates the reading of stories and accounts by those in marginalized positions, whether they be within one’s own borders or without. Her work, however, can easily be applied to a global community, as readers may engage with the stories of those marginalized on a global scale in a similar way to how they read the stories of those marginalized within their home communities.  Beyond Nussbaum’s and Appiah’s calls to empathize with sufferers, as well as Slaughter’s call to empathize with the humanitarian, Stone-Mediatore encourages readers to engage in the active, imaginative and creative process of transforming, “in a respectful and responsible manner…someone else’s experiences of struggle into a resource for [their] own critical knowledge” (Reading 163). This process begins with the recognition that “people who have struggled against oppression or exploitation can offer critical insight into existing beliefs and institutions and can help us to transform those beliefs and institutions toward the end of a   30 more just, democratic world” (162). She demonstrates, for instance, how when we recognize the ways that Arundhati Roy’s story of the Indian government’s deceptions ties into our own lives, we may find that “we, like the Indian elite, [similarly] ignore the human and environmental costs of our material comforts” (169). Such recognition of the subversive value of marginalized perspectives does not lead to unquestioned adoption of Others’ views; rather, readers must remain open to alternative perspectives but also be willing to think for themselves, using an Other’s story to “examine critically ‘common sense’ beliefs and our own lives, yet without approaching the story as absolute truth” (164). Critical reflection on the stories of marginalized writers may be challenging for those who hold positions of privilege, as these texts are likely to diverge from normative narrative patterns, which tend to be restrictive of the expression of marginalized identities and perspectives as narrative structures themselves are entwined in dominant epistemologies.   Returning to Roy, for instance, readers may find themselves in line with the typical “keepers of ‘expert’ knowledge [who] denigrate her essay on India’s dams, charging it with being too emotional or too partisan” (171). Rather than disparaging work that eludes dominant Western frameworks of knowledge, readers should instead pay special attention to how marginalized texts create meaning and why these texts may experiment with narrative forms. By doing the hard work of interpreting their own beliefs as they engage with such stories, readers are able to participate actively with marginalized writers in the creation of “oppositional knowledge” (169). Stone-Mediatore’s work thus creates space not only for a greater understanding of and engagement with distant others, but also for critical examination of our own lives and common sense beliefs, leading to the reflexivity that is key to critical GCE. In responsible standpoint thinking, there is no space to “romanticize ‘the exotic,’” “abstract people’s differences from the historical institutions that produced those differences,” nor “reduce the people whose different perspectives we investigate to ‘victims’ or easily known subjects of our analysis, for such   31 approaches only expand our authority while failing to engage the others’ perspectives in their depth and complexity” (Reading 169). Instead, by taking the complexity of others’ identities and contexts seriously, readers may begin to view their own lives in a critical light. This is not to say that the stories of marginalized others are more true than one’s own, but they can lead to “enlarged thought,” whereby we “test and revise [our] community’s taken-for-granted narrative paradigms and…anticipate communication with differently situated others” (185). Enlarged thought goes beyond reflection upon individual prejudices and idiosyncrasies to an examination of ideology, as readers question powerful beliefs and social institutions that serve the dominant social groups (189). The reflexivity involved in enlarged thought provides the greatest space for critical GCE, as it leads to an examination of privilege and injustice within complex global relations. Stone-Mediatore’s notion of reading is thus reminiscent of Andreotti’s call to listen seriously and respectfully to Southern voices without reverting to an essentialism that attributes defining features as natural and exclusive to members of a group. By acknowledging the ability of stories to “[counter] reductive, prejudicial thinking not by presenting certain truths but by turning our attention to the difficult-to-understand, overlooked elements of our heritage,” Stone-Mediatore demonstrates how careful reading of marginalized stories can prevent “romanticizations of the South” or “oversimplified categorizations of oppressor/oppressed” (Andreotti “Contributions” 7). Rather than leading to simplified sympathetic responses, story-reading may thus lead to an exploration of complex interrelations with others, since marginalized stories ground “political thinking in historical reality while highlighting the plurality, complexity, and unpredictability of that reality” (Stone-Mediatore Reading 127). Such a relational and critical approach to reading may indeed lead learners into the “crisis” inherent in the process of transformation, where learners may find themselves disoriented as they try to apprehend others “‘whose differences survive our attempts to deny, change, assimilate,   32 demean…control,’ to know, help rescue or develop them” (Ellsworth 2005; qt. in Taylor 180). Andreotti recommends considering questions such as the following while engaging critically with others’ perspectives:  What are the assumptions (about knowledge and reality) informing this perspective (on a specific issue)?  According to this perspective, who decides what is real or ideal?  In whose name?  And for whose benefit?  What are the implications of this worldview (in terms of social relations, power, ethics, economics, the environment, etc.)?  How could this issue be imagined “otherwise”?  How was my own perspective constructed?  What are the blind spots (foreclosures) in my own way of thinking? (“Contributions” 7)  Layered upon Stone-Mediatore’s notion of reading, these questions provide openings in which to engage seriously with the perspectives shared through marginal narratives, in ways that lead to more ethical and accountable responses in place of condescending acts of help that presume the Western reader knows what is best for the Other.  Such an ethical and accountable approach involves remembering that marginalized stories may contain elements that are beyond our recognition and remain beyond our understanding, particularly as they diverge from dominant interpretations of the world. Part of this involves a self-recognition of "our constitutive blindness to other forms of seeing, knowing and being in the world that do not fit what we can recognize through frames of references we have become used to" (Andreotti “Critical and Transnational” 45). The other part involves recognizing that others exist beyond our ability to fully know or understand them. Even when working through the interpretive questions above, readers should be careful of the ways we   33 inadvertently frame, silence or domesticate others’ stories through the process of interpretation. Instead, it is important that, along the way, readers hold in tension how selecting and framing marginalized stories for learning may run the risk of “subordinat[ing] ‘local’ knowledge and plac[ing] it at the service of the pursuit of (school) knowledge perceived to be ‘universal’” rather than treating it as “invaluable in and of itself” (Ahenakew et al. 220).  This does not mean that marginalized stories may not inform Western readers; rather, it is a reminder to readers to “take plunges into the unknown and experiment with other forms of being and relating to the world, without assurances or guarantees, and without rejecting or being solely defined by modern reasoning” (223) instead of appropriating marginalized stories as a “blueprint” for a new futures. With the evaluation of dominant ideologies comes the possibility of transformation within Stone-Mediatore’s notion of enlarged thought, as it leads to political and ethical accountability and a reconsideration of the reader’s engagement in public life. Rather than being prescriptive, directing readers either to a specific emotional response or to a particular form of humanitarian engagement, the imagination, critical thought and creativity involved in such a reading practice draws learners to engage relationally with those who are marginalized by dominant discourses and institutions and opens up possibilities for new ways of being and acting. It also allows for multiple readers from multiple subject positions to engage with and respond to marginalized texts differently, unlike the reading practices recommended by Nussbaum and Slaughter, who presume the reader to be in a position of privilege. Stone-Mediatore’s active and dialogical reading practice acknowledges that various readers will each reflect upon their privilege – or lack of privilege – differently. As a result, unlike more soft forms of GCE, which may promote a “’particular type’ of active and impassioned global citizenship and social change” (Marshall 9) and hold instrumental agendas that foreclose possibilities for meaningful engagement across borders, this type of reading would create space for students to explore alternative forms of being and engaging with others. Stone-Mediatore   34 thus contributes to the field of critical GCE by providing a theory of reading that seriously engages with the stories of others, rather than by simply motivating readers to “make a difference.”   Reading in a Classroom   It is worth noting that the above theories of reading tend to address individual reading rather than the process of reading within a diverse classroom community. In a collective reading practice, it is critical to remember that despite students’ positioning within a particular Canadian high school classroom, learners present diverse subject positions and will possess mixed responses to reading materials. Not only will students demonstrate various emotional responses to their readings, ranging from empathy to boredom, shock to frustration, as discussed above, but they will also confront their own relationships to marginalized writers differently, depending on how they perceive their own privilege or marginalization. In fact, as Tim notes, “recognizing one’s position of global privilege is especially difficult for ‘[s]ome people who may not feel particularly privileged in their lives” (Taylor 187). As a result, it is critical for educators to determine ways to acknowledge the various positions, perspectives and emotional responses of individual students within a space of collaborative learning. Furthermore, it is key for educators to create space for the expression of oppositional thoughts, since the “relations of power within the classroom may disadvantage young people…[as] there may not be the space to voice them” (Tallon 10). It is with a reading community in mind, therefore, that I explore the implementation of reading for critical GCE throughout specific unit plants throughout the next chapter.      35 Curriculum Review  While Stone-Mediatore’s idea of reading for enlarged thought provides a theoretical framework for critical GCE through literary studies, it is necessary to review current curricular materials in order to consider how to implement such a reading practice within a classroom setting. In Canada, where the interest in cultivating global citizens is accompanied by a lack of global citizenship curriculum at the provincial level, such resources are often provided by NGO’s and humanitarian organizations, as well as publishers of young adult literature. One of the most prominent organizations influencing GCE within a Canadian context is Me to We. Me to We is a social enterprise designed to support Free the Children, an “international charity and educational partner that believes in a world where all children are free to achieve their fullest potential as agents of change. [FTC works] domestically through We Day and We Act to educate, engage and empower youth to become active local and global citizens” (Free the Children “About Us” 2014). Since 2007, 5700 schools and 278,000 youth have participated in We Day, an event hosted in cities across Canada and the UK that is designed to empower a “generation of young global citizens through an inspirational event and a year-long educational initiative” (We Day 2014). We Act is the educational side of Me to We, providing schools with a year’s worth of educational resources, including unit and lesson plans, service campaigns with pre-packaged resources for schools, action kits to engage students actively in global issues, and more. In order to participate in We Day, schools must complete a portion of the We Act curriculum. Between We Day and We Act, it is clear that this organization has prominence in the implementation of GCE within schools across Canada.  Within their suite of materials, Me to We has created two “novel studies,” both of which focus on memoirs: Free the Children (1999) by Craig Kielburger, one of the organization’s founders, and My Maasai Life (2009) by Robin Wiszowaty, the Kenya Program Director for Free the Children. These texts and unit plans are embedded in both Free the Children and Me to We.   36 The texts are published and distributed by Me to We Books, where half of the profits supports Free the Children, and the “other half is reinvested to grow the enterprise to sustain future projects” of Me to We (McAllister & Nixon 56). Currently, My Maasai Life is promoted through the We Day preparatory materials, where teachers can acquire a class set of the text along with the unit plan. Both units aim to instruct for global citizenship while supporting provincial English curricula. The Free the Children book study, designed for academic English courses for students in grades 9/10, asserts it will “raise awareness among your students, inspiring them to become active global citizens” (McAllister 4). Similarly, the My Maasai Life unit draws explicit connections to Ontario’s English curriculum for grades 9/11/12 (ENG1D, ENG3U, ENG4U), all of which are university preparatory English courses. The study aims to “engross students in Robin’s journey to self discovery, while educating them about culture, social issues, African traditions, struggles and triumphs, family, community and international development. This unit will raise awareness in your students, promoting civic engagement and creating a call to action” (“My Maasai Life” 4).  These aims, however, raise questions for the educator who hopes to conduct the kinds of critical work introduced above. About what do these units hope to “raise awareness”?  What kinds of “action” do they hope to inspire, particularly as these units are materially and ideologically grounded within Me to We? Me to We itself has been critiqued for promoting a kind of global citizenship which is linked with consumer fulfillment or pleasure in a way that "impedes social action by foreclosing the possibility of recognizing how 'we' are implicated in the structures that produce suffering and inequality (aka global 'poverty'). Further, it prevents us from recognizing how we might connect ourselves to the ideals and strategies of social movements around the world that seek not aid but the transformation of these structures of inequality and the worldviews that normalize them"(Jefferess “Me to We” 19). As a result, it is worth looking more carefully to what extent these units foster critical global citizenship or   37 exemplify the issues of their originating organization. Using the frameworks of both critical GCE and Stone-Mediatore’s notion of enlarged thought, this chapter will undertake a close reading of the unit materials for both Free the Children and My Maasai Life to consider the effectiveness of reading memoirs of exemplary humanitarians, particularly those rooted within an enterprise with a strong humanitarian agenda. Further, it will examine the empathetic reading activities and reflective practices that constitute both unit plans, as well as the recommended expressions of citizenship, to consider how these units may reinforce for students existing normative beliefs and a moral basis for action, rather than promoting meaningful engagement with a text that leads to the questioning of assumptions and acknowledgement of privilege.  Part A: Text Selection – Memoir Within the Context of Humanitarian Enterprise   Before addressing the activities contained in the book studies themselves, it is key to first consider the selection of these two texts, Free the Children and My Maasai Life, as the subjects of the units. Where Stone-Mediatore promotes the study of experience narratives by marginalized people, these two units focus on memoirs by humanitarians who are familiar to many Canadian teens due to their connections to both the humanitarian organization, Free the Children, and the popular social enterprise, Me to We.  As outlined above, these memoirs and unit plans are integrated with both Me to We and Free the Children, as the teacher resources are produced and distributed as part of Free the Children’s educational imperative, yet book sales directly support Me to We via Me to We Books. Furthermore, the My Maasai Life study is a preparatory unit in support of We Day, which encourages schools to implement Free the Children’s educational materials throughout the year in order to “to help young people turn the day’s inspiration into sustained action” (We Day “What is We Day” 2014). The close link between both texts and the greater Me to We enterprise is evidenced through a lack of critical questioning of the development model supported by Me to   38 We, as will be explored in more detail below. Instead, there is evidence that the units themselves are marketing tools for Me to We through their support of both the overall brand and specific Me to We projects. In addition to contributing financially to Me to We through book sales and promotion of We Day events, the units are used to cross-promote other Free the Children initiatives, such as the “Adopt a Village,” “Halloween for Hunger” and “Vow of Silence” campaigns. As a result, while the units produce some opportunities for student learning, their direct promotion of these campaigns means the units serve more as advertisements or recruitment tools for Free the Children initiatives than educational materials that seek to cultivate the critical thought required for the development of global citizenship. As a comparison, the stories presented by another NGO, Save the Children, are “choreographed” by the organization to reinforce universalized notions of personhood, demonstrate “successful implementation of a global ethics by the NGO,” and reaffirm the positioning of Western audiences as global citizens able to help others elsewhere (Witteborn 363). Such packaging of stories to support humanitarian brands is familiar practice; not only do NGOs and activists enlist stories from victims as a way of alerting a broader public to situations of human rights violations. They also solicit and package stories to attract readerships. The kinds of stories they choose—sensationalized, sentimentalized, charged with affect—target privileged readers in anticipation that they will identify with, contribute to, and become advocates for the cause. The frames they impose on stories are designed to capture the interest, empathy, and political responsiveness of readers elsewhere, in ways they have learned will ‘sell’ to publishers and audiences. NGOs harness their rights agendas to the market and its processes of commodification. (Schaffer & Smith 27) Because the units are, in part, tools for recruitment, and because they are the products of an organization that focuses on humanitarian activities, the units avoid critical questioning of the   39 development enterprise in general. Further, readers never evaluate how each memoir functions within the specific humanitarian imperative of Me to We. So, while readers of both texts are introduced to the genre of memoir at the outset of each unit (cf. McAllister 10; McAllister & Nixon 18), they are never asked to consider which voices have space to speak while others are silenced, why each particular memoir was written, how and to whom it is distributed, and how it may have been crafted for these purposes and audiences. The power of these units to help students question dominant norms and learn from the voices of others is extremely limited because of the use of these units to actively cross-promote their parent organizations. Furthermore, due to their integration in the currently popular Me to We, Free the Children and We Day events in Canada, the familiarity of both Craig Kielburger, and to a lesser extent, Robin Wiszowaty, to Canadian teens leads to a natural reinforcement of the humanitarian model promoted by this family of organizations, at the expense of the marginalized groups of child laborers and Kenyans they seek to represent. Unlike familiar celebrity humanitarians, such as Bono or Angelina Jolie, who are famous first as musicians or actors and leverage their status for humanitarian means, Kielburger and Wiszowaty are solely known for their work within the Me to We enterprise and thus carry a different form of celebrity status as two faces of the Me to We brand. Wiszowaty is the Kenyan program director for Free the Children, and Kielburger is well known as the founder of this popular humanitarian organization. Both are frequent speakers at We Day events, which, according to the 2010/2011 We Day Mission Measurement report, were attended by 278,000 youth in person, plus an additional 5,700,000 viewers watching primetime broadcasts of the events (“We Day’s Impact” We Day 2014) since 2007. Furthermore, Kielburger’s face dominates web materials and posters for Me to We and Free the Children, he co-authors a column in the Globe and Mail with his brother, Marc, and he participates in speaking engagements at student leadership conferences, corporate events and more (“Craig Kielburger” Me to We 2014). Thus, the stories of Kielburger and Wiszowaty are both materially   40 and ideologically bound to Me to We; their celebrity-style status means they lack the marginalized perspectives that Stone-Mediatore asserts will help readers reflect on dominant assumptions and beliefs. Instead of providing a basis for critical reflection, the focus on Kielburger’s and Wiszowaty’s perspectives through unit activities reinforces the subjectivity of these narrators and the ideology of Me to We; while the voices and viewpoints of child laborers and the Maasai are co-opted by the humanitarian enterprise. As a result, the units thus leverage the personal growth stories of these exemplary humanitarians to motivate students towards a particular form of action within the Me to We enterprise, instead of leading students through the potentially uncomfortable confrontation with subversive or challenging perspectives that is necessary to transformation within a critical GCE classroom.  The subjectivity of Kielburger and Wiszowaty dominate each unit, while the voices of those they meet on their respective travels remain subordinated to the personal development stories of the two narrators. Of course, within a novel study, it is key to examine the narrator of a particular text; however, it is difficult to learn from others, whether they be child laborers and activists across Asia or members of a Maasai community, when their perspectives are filtered and framed by white, Western subjects who speak for them (cf. Jefferess “Humanitarian” 76). The complexity of the narrators is foregrounded while other people remain supporting characters in the development of Craig and Robin as humanitarians. For instance, readers are asked to consider Robin’s layered identity, as she expresses herself to be the “explorer and the tourist. The strong mama and the clumsy child, the calm spirit and the impatient thrill-seeker. Gracious and flustered. Courageous and nervous. An apathetic pretender and a convincing defender. A determined minimalist and an obedient daughter. Humble, yet opinionated. Selfish, yet selfless” (Wiszowaty 152). By contrast, apart from a character web exploring Robin’s friend Samuel, readers are not asked to address Maasai as complex and layered characters; instead, they are seen as supplemental to Robin, the white, Western subject. In studying Free the Children, readers   41 take note of the “role [other characters] play in Craig’s journey” (McAllister 12), and in My Maasai Life, they consider “other characters in the book” by answering: “What is the main character’s relationship to this person?  How does this person contribute to who [Robin] is?” (McAllister & Nixon 19, italics mine). Thus, readers are led to understand that the actions of activists, community members, parents, political leaders and child laborers hold no power to effect change in their contexts; instead, they are seen as supporting characters in the Western humanitarian’s story.  Even the powerful story of Iqbal Masih, the Pakistani activist against child labor, is appropriated so that his “real power” is not his own activism within the context of child labor but his impact on Craig and the development of Free the Children. For instance, as one unit activity, students create a mural incorporating “symbols, themes and events in the book to represent the impact Iqbal had on Craig” (McAllister 23). Both units thus demonstrate the liberal approach to GCE critiqued by Slaughter, whereby “sad and sentimental stories” from elsewhere provide the “raw materials for the refinement of the humanitarian imagination” (Slaughter 105), where the subjects of such stories are used for the cultivation of global citizens in the West, rather than being acknowledged as the thoughtful originators of their own generously shared stories. Not only do the Me to We spokespeople dominate the texts and units, but alternative viewpoints are never introduced through unit activities; neither memoir is read up against any stories by other people, who may provide other perspectives from other subject positions that may challenge readers to think otherwise.   As a result, the focus of both units becomes the journeys of Craig and Robin towards self-discovery; within this context, global citizenship is framed as personal development through humanitarian action, rather than the critical engagement across borders that leads to social justice and transformed relations of power. For instance, the culminating unit questions do not examine structures of inequality that contribute to child labor but instead trace Craig’s development as an exemplary humanitarian “pre- and post-Asia.”  Students are thus led to consider “how Craig has   42 grown” through his travels, as well as “the lasting effect Craig’s trip to Asia had on the organization” (McAllister 31) of Free the Children. While the potential impact of travel on individuals and organizations is worth recognizing, the fact that the culminating considerations of the unit address Craig’s personal development turns the lives of the children and activists that Craig encounters in Asia into commodities for his personal growth as he builds Free the Children. Similarly, Robin’s experiences in Nyoket-naiborr are explored as contributors to her personal development, as students are asked, for instance, how Robin feels about each place she lives, as well as why the Maasai man in Nairobi impacts Robin (McAllister & Nixon 23). As the unit progresses, Robin’s experiences with the Maasai are increasingly framed as development “issues” to which students seek solutions through international agencies, which enable the students, like Robin, to “make a difference” (cf. McAllister and Nixon 30-31). While Free the Children activities place greater emphasis on Craig himself, the My Maasai Life unit concludes by leading students towards specific forms of humanitarian action in response to Robin’s travel story.   Both units thus demonstrate limits to Slaughter’s notion of humanitarian reading, whereby a narrative such as Dunant’s, Kielburger’s, or Wiszowaty’s “invites us to project ourselves into the position of the humanitarian” (94) in order to help us understand ourselves in relation to suffering others. Rather than reflecting the kind of humanitarian indifference Slaughter reads in Dunant’s narrative, these units demonstrate how the humanitarian position may instead by invested with power, voice and celebrity. Due to the powerful positions of these exemplary humanitarians within Canadian teen culture, reader empathy with Kielburger or Wiszowaty may simply reinforce privileged student identities as “the kinds of people” who act for suffering others. Unfortunately, instead of cultivating relationality between readers and others elsewhere, humanitarian campaigns that leverage celebrity humanitarians tend to entrench existing imbalances between the West and those in the Global South:    43 While ostensibly about the lives of those whom they seek to uplift and save, discourses of high-profile Western benevolence, concern and compassion, actively position ‘our guys’ as the stars of the development show, while the objects of national (and Northern) benevolence merely function as the backdrop to a story which is really about ‘us’… [while] insufficient attention [is given] to their own participation in relations of domination. (Bryan & Bracken 73) With “our guys” as the stars, the complex issues, global relationships and identities introduced by these memoirs are quickly glossed over by the "celebrity [who] embodies the false promise of individual power as a force of social change, the illusion of a single person fighting against structures of injustice. The consequence is a reduction of the complex problems of development into ‘soundbite’ politics that carry the logic of a ‘quick fix’" (Chouliaraki “Theatricality” 4). Such simplification of issues is counterproductive to the hard work of making sense of the complexities of global relationships and one’s position within them. In fact, it reinforces rather than counters many of the layered and intersecting power structures that Andreotti’s HEADS UP acronym helps educators identify: hegemony, ahistoricism, depoliticization, salvationism, un-complicated solutions and paternalism (Andreotti “Editor’s Preface: HEADS UP” 2). In the case of these units, the quick fix is involvement with various Free the Children campaigns, as promoted by the unit documents. By examining the stories of Craig and Robin as journeys of individual development and fulfillment within the context of simplified global issues, these novel studies thus motivate students to follow a particular form of humanitarian action.  Such promotion of exemplary humanitarian memoirs is contrary to the aims of critical GCE, as it tends to have both negative and prescriptive impacts on audience behavior, rather than creating space for students to learn from others, question existing frameworks, and consider alternative perspectives and futures. At best, these memoirs may persuade students to follow prescribed patterns of action, such as participation in the Free the Children projects   44 recommended within each novel study; at other times, a focus on these familiar figures may foreclose any student response whatsoever, as students turn their attention solely to the humanitarian rather than the other people whose voices are mediated through celebrity framing. In being led to “feel for the celebrity’s feelings for the feelings of the sufferer,” learners may be drawn to consider the celebrity herself, rather than those the celebrity represents (Chouliaraki “Theatricality” 16). Furthermore, the positive representation of the self-fulfilled celebrity may remove feelings of complicity from the learners, preventing them, for instance, from considering the effects of Canadian consumption on child labor. Bryan and Bracken note this effect in Religious Education textbooks within Irish schools, which "present Irish people as generous and compassionate which in turn obfuscates their collusion in global exploitation… [A] range of personal narratives, stories and biographies were presented with the effect of alleviating feelings of complicity or inadequacy" (92). Thus, while Slaughter argues that empathy with the humanitarian may help readers “[ignore] the prejudicial claims of nationalism” (Slaughter 99) through a disinterested attitude towards all humanity, humanitarian associations may instead reinforce nationalism – or, by extension, membership in other privileged communities – as students come to define themselves as the kinds of people who act for suffering others, rather than recognizing how they may be contributing to structures that produce suffering and injustice.  With the alleviation of tension and complicity, students may come to believe that global citizenship is meant to always be “fun,” “easy” and “fulfilling.” Jefferess argues that self-fulfillment is central to the Me to We vision of global citizenship: “rather than exposing their audience to multiple voices and viewpoints, ‘Me to We’ centers the experience of the benefactor and reinforces the message that ‘making a difference’ leads to personal happiness” (“Me to We” 25). By contrast, Ahmed (2010) argues for the transformative value of unhappiness: “we need to think about unhappiness as more than a feeling that should be overcome. Unhappiness might offer a pedagogical lesson on the limits of the promise of happiness. If injustice does have   45 unhappy effects, then the story does not end there" (qt. in Jefferess “Me to We” 25). When students experience the uncomfortable or unhappy effects of injustice, they can then begin to face the dark side of humanity, as Todd recommends, acknowledging the causes of injustice both elsewhere and at home. In doing so, they may begin to acknowledge their complicity in injustice, leading to opportunities for meaningful change, rather than simply finding self-fulfillment through quick fixes. For students of Free the Children, this may involve facing not only how their individual purchases may directly support companies that exploit children but also how Canadian society’s demand for affordable products perpetuates the need for cheap labor on a global scale. Readers of My Maasai Life may face the impact of tourism on the Maasai in Kenya, which, while it supports the economy, greatly impacts the environment and contributes to ongoing land claims issues (cf. Hatcher). With unhappiness as a critical element of transformative learning, it is key for students to encounter stories of others that may challenge assumptions and cause them to rethink their behaviors, rather than simply celebrating exemplary humanitarian successes. For literary study to be an effective means of educating for critical global citizenship, it is thus necessary for students to learn from and with others by encountering their stories with space to confront feelings of unhappiness without moving quickly to fulfillment. As will be explored in the following chapter, the stories of the marginalized may "embolden individual members to understand personal experience as a ground of action and social change” (Schaffer & Smith 16), unlike the experience narratives of those from the dominant culture. Such stories not only provide marginalized people with “new or newly valued subject positions from which to speak and to address members of their own community in acts of solidarity,” but they also “offer members of the dominant community occasions for witnessing to human rights abuse, acknowledging and affirming the rights of others” (16). Within a classroom pursuing critical   46 GCE, these stories are key to the sometimes uncomfortable and hard work of challenging existing reality with the hope of finding new ways of being together in the world.  Part B: Text Reflection – Safe and Settled Reading Practices Maintain the Status Quo   Text selection is only one aspect of unit development; it is thus necessary to turn now to how these units design engagement with their respective texts. As both unit plans have been largely developed by McAllister for Me to We (with the My Maasai Life unit co-written with Nixon), and because there are many similarities between the units, their activities will be examined together. A helpful tool in examining the reflective reading questions of the units on both Free the Children and My Maasai Life is “Critical Literacy in Global Education,” a professional development resource for global citizenship educators (Andreotti et al.). Though this resource focuses on “reading [both] the word and the world” in various critical GCE classrooms, the summary of traditional reading, critical reading, and critical literacy – which is foundational to much critical GCE theory – is a helpful lens through which to examine the reading practices in these units. Traditional reading treats knowledge as universal and asks students to what extent a text represents the “truth,” and critical reading examines the context of a text to explore the validity of the author’s interpretation of reality. By contrast, critical literacy is based on an understanding of knowledge as partial, dynamic and contingent, and it is thus concerned with the assumptions behind and implications of particular representations and interpretations.  The extent to which students engage in critical literacy practices gives an indication of how well a unit educates for critical global citizenship, particularly depending on whether students come to question their own beliefs and assumptions through encounters with those from different backgrounds and perspectives. Just as the genre of humanitarian memoir forecloses the learning that occurs through confrontation with marginalized perspectives, so   47 would a pedagogy that features safe and sanitized reflection rather than leading students through a more uncomfortable and reflexive space where critical learning may occur.  There are some helpful reading practices introduced within both units. Students are instructed to read actively, reflecting on each text through both individual and collective practices such as daily journals, active reading strategies, and class discussions. Individually, they respond to qualities of the text itself, being prompted to identify powerful images or language, ask questions about confusing or unfamiliar aspects of the text, and connect the text to themselves, other texts, and the world around them (McAllister 8; McAllister & Nixon 17). While introductory, these activities may help students to recognize the intentional use of language to create particular meanings and to acknowledge their relationality with these texts, as well as the identities and topics they represent. With an educator present who is attuned to the practices of critical literacy, students could begin to recognize the construction of these texts for particular audiences, within particular global relations and for particular ends. However, most activities exemplify traditional and critical reading practices, as students work to understand the content and context of the memoir, decipher what the author is trying to say, and appreciate the style of communication. For instance, in the Free the Children unit, students work through a concept map that helps them recognize connections within the text, either between plot events, characters and character relationships, and social justice issues (15) in order to cultivate a richer appreciation of the memoir’s context. They also underline key words and phrases that help them decipher the main message of each chapter, helping them decode the content of the text. Readers of My Maasai Life go somewhat further, as they are encouraged to “freely voice anything that they are ‘wondering’ about” (McAllister & Nixon 31), with regards to global issues and international development, a good practice for students as they learn to question existing reality and come up with tentative ideas. From a critical literacy perspective, this wondering is a particularly helpful means of introducing the partial and dynamic nature of knowledge (cf.   48 Andreotti et al. 22), as students are not forced to come to conclusions or pick sides, but rather to face the complexity of challenging issues. In contrast with the other reading activities, which tend to acknowledge the content of My Maasai Life as concrete, stable and accessible, this activity helps students become aware of the limits of knowledge and the challenges in facing complex issues. While they are given space to connect with the text independently, students also spend time in each class period discussing their responses in small groups, as well as with the whole class. In both units, students are asked to respond individually to every chapter by using sticky notes to mark “exquisite language” or powerful passages, and by underlining key words or phrases that are “important to the message in a particular chapter” (McAllister & Nixon 17). Both units use individual journals to encourage personal reflection: readers of Free the Children are asked to journal about connections between the text and their selves, other texts and the world, and My Maasai Life readers are asked to answer personal response questions, such as “I was surprised by…” or “I need to know more about…” (McAllister & Nixon 17) and to reflect on specific passages from the text. The ongoing nature of journaling with every chapter allows students to revisit their initial impressions, modify their understandings, come to new ways of seeing, and recognize where further learning is required; in doing so, they may develop an awareness of the tentativeness and partiality of knowledge – at least their knowledge. Furthermore, a few times throughout the unit, responses to these reading practices become the basis of class discussions, as students are asked to share their findings first with partners and then with the whole class (cf. McAllister & Nixon 18; 24; 32). This blend of individual and collective response helps students to process their own reactions in relation to those with different subject positions and reactions to the text within the class, creating space for mutual learning and fostering understanding of the relational aspect of knowledge (cf. Eidoo et al 76). Even though a classroom’s perspective may be shaped by dominant culture, by creating space   49 for dialogue and allowing students to modify their perspectives throughout the unit, teachers help students confront the limitations of any one perspective, encouraging an awareness of knowledge as tentative and contingent. Such dialogue is foundational to critical global citizenship, as it is necessary to relational and collective means of engagement across borders.  At the same time, the “neutrality” of the students’ subject positions and the centrality of “Western” society remain assumed within the units, so students are not led into potentially unsettling encounters either with oppositional perspectives or with their own complicity in the issues raised by each text. For instance, students’ interpretations of the texts are typically shared at the opening of each lesson, without being tested, contextualized or questioned, so students face neither the situatedness of their own perspectives nor how that positioning may make it difficult for them to think otherwise. So, students do not question why they may have reached particular conclusions about the text based on their own political, historical or cultural contexts. By simply sharing their responses without critical questioning, students may come to think that they are the arbiters of truth, in the position to know and interpret those about whom they are reading, rather than considering how their own lenses may leave others beyond their comprehension. In a similar vein, students are introduced to My Maasai Life by directly responding to “images or artifacts that represent various features in the book,” considering “what they think they know about the subject matter of the book” (McAllister & Nixon 16), without questioning their potential preconceptions, stereotypes or knowledge gaps. Rather than examining their pre-existing lenses, including why they may hold particular assumptions about Africa, students begin their study from a position of presumed neutrality. For a collective reading practice to be transformative, it would be more helpful to "locat[e] students within differentiated sets of histories, experiences, literacies, and values” making use of “pedagogical practices … that not only raise questions about the strengths and limitations of what students know, but also grapple with the issue of what conditions must be engaged to expand the capacities and skills   50 needed by students to become engaged global citizens and responsible social agents" (Giroux 66). For these units to educate for critical global citizenship, they must help students unpack their own assumptions and contexts within a safe and open, yet critical space.  Just as the students’ positions within a mainstream, Western classroom remain unacknowledged, so does the Western orientation of these texts remain unquestioned, leaving people in South Asia and Kenya to be viewed through an invisible Western lens. As already discussed, the perspectives and assumptions of the authors within the context of the Me to We organization are not examined. Furthermore, Western institutions and assumptions outside the Me to We enterprise remain uninterrogated, naturalizing and universalizing the mainstream perspectives with which students are familiar. As an example, the familiar Western notion of a humanitarian “hero” is normalized and reinforced in Free the Children’s “World Council” activity. In this activity, students are asked to select an “inspirational figure,” framed as those who, like Mother Teresa, “make an impact on society” (McAllister 20), and then form a World Council of such figures with the goal of creating new world agreements on child labor. Unfortunately, the promotion of particularly impactful “inspirational figures” as spokespeople in the World Council will profoundly shape students’ selections as to who may be a global citizen or make a difference to child labor, as Western notions of “action” or “impact” often fail to recognize the “social background conditions that enable some people to express their will, in both the home and public arenas, and that place constraints on others” (Stone-Mediatore Reading 138). The limiting guidelines around this activity thus provide little space for students to imagine “inspirational figures” or “action” outside a humanitarian framework. As a result, the assignment parameters may prevent students from selecting internationally recognized figures from outside the West such as Nobel Peace Prize winner and child rights activist, Kailash Satyarthi, and they would certainly limit them from selecting activists who have made significant impacts in their local spaces but may be unfamiliar to Canadian students, as well as “regular” people from   51 around the world, whose impacts are limited to “everyday” actions. Even if students do have ideas of alternative figures such as these, they may feel discouraged from sharing, due to the narrow scope of the activity. As a result, while the World Council activity hopes to help students examine “issues from another angle” (McAllister 19), it may instead simply reinforce the perspectives of those recognized by the assignment as influential, global actors, and the students’ new world agreements on child labor may thus reflect a Western perspective on behalf of those in the global South, rather than inclusive of them. In this way, global citizenship may be framed for students as the dramatic, globally recognized actions of privileged individuals that address the perceived lack or need of others. Further, by relating to these inspirational figures, students are reinforced in their subjectivity as privileged, Western subjects, rather than being challenged to question their assumptions and positions in order to learn from activists in the South Asian countries they are studying. They are not led to consider the complexity of child labor as it is reflected in a diversity of perspectives, from Canadian government members to parents in Lahore, big business owners to teachers in Pakistani schools. If the World Council were to integrate a diversity of perspectives, it would more effectively introduce students to the complexity of the topic and allow students to participate from the diversity of their own positions.   With dominant culture remaining invisible and a lack of dissenting perspectives being presented, students are guided through activities that lead them to see others through a frame of empathy or pity from their presumed positions of privilege. Empathy appears to be the goal of many writing assignments within each unit. For instance, readers of Free the Children are encouraged to imagine themselves in the positions of child laborers in order to write a creative piece that “tells the child’s life story from their own perspective… address[ing] their feelings, misfortunes and hopes” (McAllister 27). Through a slightly different exercise, readers of My Maasai Life write out procedures for Maasai chores, with the goal that they will “see the   52 difficulty of each task Robin and the Maasai people must perform every day” (McAllister & Nixon 26). While imaginative pieces like these may be a reasonable place to begin, they run the risk of reinforcing a presumption that students may easily understand the perspectives of others and speak on behalf of them. In taking on the voices of child laborers and Maasai, students are not led to explore their own perspectives and voices; furthermore, they do not reflect upon their own limitations in writing from another person’s perspective, whose experiences may be considerably different from their own. Instead, by focusing on the hardships of other people’s lives, “it is only possible for the pupils to feel their lives are different and undeniably superior,” perhaps leading them to “appreciate what they have more,” as one teacher experienced in the “Learning to Read the World” study on GC classrooms in Ireland (Bryan & Bracken 144). In this way, Smith argues that “using Others’ lives to help students feel better about their own lives reinforces constructions of ‘Others’ in terms of negative differences and constructions of ‘Self’ in terms of positive privilege” (qt. in Bryan & Bracken 144). Similar to the empathy promoted by NGO’s, the outcome of these activities is thus not transformational but self-serving: "The radical and disruptive voice of the Other, their thoughts, opinions, anger or accusations is silent, unless mediated through the NGO. The educational goal is to imagine the suffering of the Other, but the actual thoughts, desires or actions of the Other are not really part of the equation. The Other's suffering becomes a tool for our own learning, our own development" (Tallon 10).  The two Me to We units thus do little to approach critical literacy, whereby students are encouraged to “unpack [their] lenses (their assumptions and how those were constructed) and their implications” (Andreotti et al. 22). By not being encouraged to question their own relationality to those they read about, or their complicity in some of the global relations covered throughout each unit, students’ subject positions remain neutral, universalized and unchallenged, and their focus remains on the Other, who can be known and subsequently pitied. To counter this, Andreotti and de Souza recommend replacing the empathetic practice of putting oneself in   53 another’s shoes with the reflexive work of examining those shoes and thinking about the difficulties of putting them on, as well as reflecting on one’s own shoes, which cannot ever quite be removed (“Translating” 26). Unlike the practice of writing from another’s perspective, this activity would help readers approach marginalized experience narratives in a different way from “the customary empiricist fashion, [where] they tend to collect information that fits within their preconceived narrative frameworks and tend to overlook elements incongruent with those frameworks" (Stone-Mediatore 167). Andreotti and de Souza’s reflexive practice may thus help students move beyond what is relatable to begin to consider how their lenses may prevent them from fully comprehending others. Such a practice may help students take small steps towards acknowledging there are other ways of conceiving of things that are far different from a Western understanding, ways that "cannot be easily captured by our conditioned senses: non-anthropocentric, non-teleological, non-dialectical, non-universal and non-Cartesian possibilities" (Andreotti “Critical and Transnational” 45). In these ways, students would better approach the critical literacy required to deconstruct their own assumptions, potentially beginning to acknowledge their own entitlement in presuming to know and understand others – including what may be best for them. By doing so, students may be moved to consider alternative expressions of more critical global citizenship than are expressed through the prescribed humanitarian action of these units.   Part C: Text Misdirection – Easy Answers Within a Development Context    Simple solutions are more easily avoided when students have a deeper understanding of the complex and relational nature of the topics they consider in class. It is thus worthwhile to explore to what extent these units work towards a contextual and interdisciplinary approach, which encourages students to draw introductory connections between what they are reading and the greater historical, geographical and political context. By engaging with others in their depth   54 and complexity, including their rootedness within particular contexts, these units would guide students through the crisis inherent in transformational learning that leads to critical expressions of global citizenship. With this in mind, a close look at the units’ recommended sources of information, approach to global interrelatedness, and recommended expressions of citizenship will help educators consider how to concretize reading for enlarged thought.   Though time is limited within a novel study to cover related fields in depth, both units promote awareness of the geographical, political and cultural settings of Free the Children and My Maasai Life. The units use mapping activities, research assignments and group discussions to help students develop introductory understanding of the layered nature of the topics and identities introduced in the texts. For instance, in mapping the key locations and subsequently conducting group research on the “geographical features, cultural practice, social justice issues, type of government, urban/rural life, current state of the government, and more” (McAllister 7), students reading Free the Children are required to go beyond the information provided in the memoir to develop deeper understanding of the countries in Southeast Asia that Craig visits. Furthermore, they are asked to explore the impacts of both local governments and the Canadian government on child labor in Pakistan (23), in conjunction with a chapter in Free the Children that introduces the possibility of Canadian complicity in child labor issues: “Was it a case of the rich wanting to maintain their wealth, and not caring what went on in the Third World?  Was this bonded labor on an international scale, with high interest rates keeping countries poor, with no hope of ever repaying their loans?” (Kielburger 155). Unfortunately, despite the memoir’s introduction of the complexities surrounding child labor, including political unrest between Pakistan and neighboring countries, conditions made by the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) surrounding loans and loan repayment, the struggles of Pakistani labor movements to promote adult employment, and the perpetuation of child labor through Canada’s purchasing power (cf. Kielburger 154-158), the unit questions focus on Pakistan’s “lack of   55 commitment” or “motivation” to enforce child labor laws. By contrast, Canada is represented as possessing the possibility to impact child labor in Pakistan and elsewhere “through their laws and regulations” (McAllister 23), reinforcing the “exaltation” of Canadian subjects above Pakistani people (cf. Thobani 5). Further, fact-finding activities such as this run the risk of perpetuating an “epistemic blindness,” whereby students continue to see themselves as “autonomous, individuated and self-sufficient beings inhabiting a knowable and controllable world” within which “we are able to describe…and define for others the best pathway for their development" (Andreotti “Education” 21). Within such a Cartesian-constructed world, students may remain blind to their relationality with others, such as those in Pakistan, as well as to possibilities for very different futures. Thus, while the unit provides a cursory introduction to child labor, students’ understanding of these complex issues is reduced to a criticism of Pakistan for neglecting responsibility for its own people, a responsibility that Canada presumably holds the potential to fulfill. To counter this reductive perspective, students’ understanding of child labor could be further developed through sources that extend and question issues introduced within the memoir and activities could go beyond fact-finding to encourage students to question Western framing of child labor and proposed solutions.  In this way, students would be better prepared to engage with the limits of Kielburger’s representations and ask critical questions about the context of child labor in each South Asian country and at home.  As the unit goes on, students are encouraged to further develop their awareness of the political and historical context of child labor in various South Asian countries. Through a “Know – Want to Know – Learned” (McAllister 15) activity, they continually revisit their understanding of child labor as they proceed through the text, building upon their knowledge at the outset of the unit. The focus of this activity is the straightforward, cumulative acquisition of knowledge about child labor, and students do not engage with the power relations embedded in knowledge production. However, the ongoing revisiting of this topic does help students to grasp the   56 partiality of their knowledge, encourage them to develop and modify their understandings, and lead them to identify gaps that may lead to further learning. These outcomes would also result from the unit’s culminating conference, which involves the exploration of unit issues through speeches, demonstrations, and debates, as well as the proposal of long- and short-term goals, all of which are to be carried out within a community atmosphere of collaboration and support (McAllister 32-33). Though activity instructions do not provide explicit direction to students, this conference would be particularly valuable if students were encouraged to approach the topic of child labor not as humanitarian “saviors,” but as critical thinkers, reflecting on the complexities of, for instance, influencing government policies or participating in anti-sweatshop activism. With more specific direction than the activity provides as it stands, students could be instructed to research products commonly found in Canada that have been produced by child laborers, to critique the deceptive labeling of consumer products to disguise the exploitation of workers in their production,2 to look into the exploitation of workers in Canada, to consider and critique who is driving the global labor agenda, to explore activist groups who are striving for fair pay and working conditions in the localities mentioned in Free the Children, and to question the consumptive habits of Canadians that drive the need for cheap labor. By approaching their learning from diverse angles within an atmosphere of both support and debate, students may question the representations within Free the Children, and potentially go beyond the bounds of the text itself to explore the complexities of the issues introduced therein.  The unit on My Maasai Life similarly provides some political, cultural and geographical background in order to help students understand the layered and complex nature of Maasai identity, though it, too, falls short of introducing students to dissenting perspectives. Readers of My Maasai Life complete a community mapping activity that introduces them to the dependence                                                      2 For instance, a “Made in Italy” label is used to promote Italian-made products above those made in sweatshops in South Asia. However, this label masks the immigrants employed in Italy’s underground economy, removing consumer skepticism (cf. Silvey 5).   57 of gender roles upon context, learning how gender roles are “changeable over time and vary widely both within and between cultures” (McAllister & Nixon 25). They are then encouraged to explore gender roles within a specific Nkoyet-nariborr village, considering the intersection of geography, access to resources, wealth, and family on the positions of men or women within the village. This activity provides the beginnings of a more nuanced understanding of gender, as it is rooted within a specific locality and time. It does, however, have some limits, as it relies solely on Wiszowaty’s narrow, Western viewpoint, rather than incorporating resources from a Kenyan perspective, and it does not invite students to question how gender works in their own classroom, homes, or community. With Wiszowaty’s privileged perspective as normative, the Maasai are thus introduced as in need of development aid, as will be explored below. To a limited extent therefore, diverse unit activities thus lead students to participate in a community of mutual learning and ongoing growth as they work to more deeply understand the historical rootedness of others’ perspectives. In this way, students take an inadequate but initial step towards questioning and expanding their knowledge of the Maasai, with all of their diversity and difference. While both units do help students further contextualize the locations, identities and issues represented in the two memoirs, the use of Western sources of information may further separate the readers from those they are reading about in South Asia or Kenya, potentially developing an “us/them” dichotomy. Students of both memoirs are given little to no direction in how to research South Asia and Kenya; readers of My Maasai Life are instructed to search “appropriate resources (the novel itself, internet, atlas, etc.)” (McAllister & Nixon 22), and readers of Free the Children are given no direction at all. The unit does not include any materials produced outside of a Western context that would introduce students to diverse or dissenting perspectives on the localities and topics covered by the memoirs; thus, students and teachers simply rely upon familiar, Western resources. If the library and online resources immediately available to high   58 school students in Canada are similar to the geography textbooks available to Irish high school students, research is likely to produce  particularly graphic images of poverty, severe, deprivation, ill-health, bereavement, suffering and/or distress. Common examples [include] images of child soldiers, child labourers, malnourished women and children, emaciated corpses and families living in sewage-polluted landscapes. These images [are] used to ‘illustrate’ a range of generic geographical themes, such as economic measurement, infant mortality, migration, desertification, ethnocentrism, pollution, geoecology and the impact of multinational corporations. (Bryan & Bracken 19)   With research thus limited to Western sources, students’ understandings of life in Kenya or South Asia may be shaped by seemingly objective sources that reinforce narrow Western understandings of these regions and entrench the assumption that Kielburger’s and Wiszowaty’s perspectives are accurate and objective. The centrality of these perspectives reinforces typical NGO patterns of how “we learn about you, and then we help you” (Tallon 8). Additionally, the relations of power in the classroom, in this case supported by both Western resources and celebrity-style humanitarians, may disadvantage young people who may not feel they have the space to voice thoughts that are oppositional to this pattern (cf. 10). It is thus critical for educators to consider how to incorporate multiple viewpoints into the classroom, both to introduce and to create room for the introduction of dissenting representations and perspectives.  Furthermore, through this outside gaze, students may gain reductive and negative views of those in South Asia or Kenya, while incongruities or issues within their own societies, perspectives and practices remain invisible. For instance, as students begin to examine the intersection of geography and wealth on gender roles within the Maasai community, the unit does not require them either to turn a critical eye to the pervasive gender-related issues within Canadian society or to analyze what is meant by gender, as gender dichotomy is normalized   59 through unit activities. When students are asked to consider how gender roles may be “similar or different in North America,” they focus on the question: “How does this make you feel, thinking of your own personal responsibilities?” (McAllister & Nixon 25). Considering that Maasai gender roles are examined in relation to identifying the “areas of most need,” as students determine what “could be done by an international development agency to improve the quality of life for the people in the village” (25), it is likely that students would come away feeling “lucky” by comparison. This is indeed what Bryan and Bracken (2004) discovered by tracing similar lessons in Irish classrooms, which focus on the “exploration of the differences between pupils in Irish schools and their peers in poorer countries, with the expectation that this would engender a clearer understanding of what it is like to be sick or hungry or poor or uneducated” (143, italics in the original). Typical of humanitarian discourse, this dichotomy between we (who are fortunate) and they (who are unfortunate) fails to recognize difference and inequality within both the students’ home society and that about which they are learning; the global citizen is constructed as universally affluent, while those who are impoverished are simply the recipients of aid. Not only is this dichotomy problematic in that it excludes impoverished, global Others from being citizens of the world, but it also causes problems for Canadian students. A presumption that all readers feel relatively wealthy may lead marginalized Canadian students to feel displaced from this dialogue, particularly as students from various ethnic, religious, socio-economic, political, cultural and familial backgrounds may not perceive themselves to reflect the North American norm. Alternatively, such an activity may bestow on such students relative privilege as they become discursively connected with the more affluent Canadian populous. In other words, through association with the national society, over and against perceived outsiders, marginalized Canadian students may be “exalted” to the national status. As Thobani argues, within a nation, "exaltation enables nationals with even the lowliest 'internal' status to claim civilizational and existentialist parity with privileged insiders and civilizational superiority in   60 their daily encounters with outsiders" (21). If this is the case, such reading activities simply reinforce existing structures of power and privilege, where students may either feel obligated to conform to Western interpretations or feel promoted to privileged status, rather than creating space for students to introduce potentially oppositional perspectives.  Furthermore, the fortunate/unfortunate dichotomy leads to a depoliticized and homogenized view of the Maasai. Quickly jumping to a “comparative analyses of this nature [may] run the risk of ‘depoliticizing poverty’ [as it is] not accompanied by a critical examination of why such differences exist in the first place” (Bryan & Bracken 146). Further, it may lead students to view gender differences in Kenya through a Western lens, whereby “Third World women [are perceived to] have similar problems and needs” (Mohanty 30) that can be evenly met by development policies. Unfortunately, as Mohanty argues when critiquing the homogenization of “Third World women” within a single category, such “reductive cross-cultural comparisons result in the colonization of the specifics of daily existence and the complexities of political interests that women of different social classes and cultures represent and mobilize” (Mohanty 30). Feelings of “luck” in the readers would thus regrettably foreclose critical questioning of why gender differences exist in Maasai communities, how Maasai men and women unevenly experience the effects of global capitalism, or why areas of need persist. Furthermore, by feeling lucky, Canadian students would become even less likely to question the persistent gender imbalances within their own society, instead focusing on the problems of the Maasai. As a result, these activities turn the critical gaze away from the students in a way that removes students’ responsibility or relationality aside from an impetus to help. Such simplification and depoliticization also tends to minimize global interrelatedness, except through the lens of development, where those in the West and others in the global South are connected through development aid. Without acknowledging historical, economic and political global interconnections, it becomes difficult for students to face their complicity in the   61 very issues they aspire to help through aid. For instance, while Free the Children references Canadian complicity in child labor through the purchase of fireworks made by children (35), promotes solidarity across borders with Asian-based organizations, such as Child Workers in Asia, that are advocating for structural change (75), and reminds readers that “we are part of the problem, too” (64), the unit tends to localize the issue. Students learn about the caste system in India and how this impacts child labor (McAllister 27), but they learn nothing of India’s colonial past and economic reliance on child labor, as well as the current impacts of neoliberal economic policies and western demand for low priced goods on ongoing child labor. Furthermore, they do not explore local Indian movements that strive for better wages and working conditions, nor do they consider notions of solidarity or how students may connect with and support the work of local movements or transnational organizations. As a result, students may come to see child labor as a solely local issue, without any sway on student identities or practices, aside from participation in humanitarian aid. Similarly, the unit plan for My Maasai Life separates “Local Issues” and “Global Problems” through an activity that invites students to rank issues that are pre-categorized under these two headings (McAllister & Nixon 26). For instance, “trying to ensure people have jobs and decent wages” is taught to be local issue to be handled by national governments, and students rank this issue alongside other pre-defined “local” issues, such as “trying to improve the quality of our environment.”  Global issues are listed separately and include issues such as “unequal distribution of resources” and “starvation in many parts of the world.”  The activity does not invite students to question the binary categorization of these issues, nor does it invite them to draw connections between local and global spheres. Furthermore, the activity implies that local governments are “trying to improve/solve” local issues “here,” while global problems “over there” are “severe,” demonstrating “lack.”  In the subsequent lesson, these global issues are represented as requiring the intervention of international development agencies, the only   62 solution to global issues that is presented to the students. The unit thus sets up an implicit contrast between “our” local issues, which our country is working to solve, and global issues, which belong to others elsewhere, but which we can impact through joining the work of international development agencies. This dichotomy removes students’ interconnectedness with other people through their purchasing power, travel habits, representational practices, and support of government policies. In this way, the only global interconnection recognized by the unit is one of humanitarian aid, as students take on others’ “global” issues through the work of development agencies. Rooted within the greater development approach of Me to We, such a division "impedes social action by foreclosing the possibility of recognizing how 'we' are implicated in the structures that produce suffering and inequality (aka global 'poverty'). Further, it prevents us from recognizing how we might connect ourselves to the ideals and strategies of social movements around the world that seek not aid but the transformation of these structures of inequality and the worldviews that normalize them" (Jefferess “Me to We”19). Instead, existing structures remain normalized and invisible, and the unit activities represent the connection between students in Canada and those in Kenya only in terms of humanitarian aid.  Just as the units tend to dichotomize our local issues and others’ global issues, so do they also simplify controversial subjects in ways that reinforce the students as subjects who are able to determine the best solutions to complex topics, whether it be the intersecting layers of child labor issues or genital manipulation. As these topics may be new and challenging for students, it is reasonable that activities remain introductory, acknowledging that there will be more for students to learn beyond the limits of the unit. At the same time, the oversimplification of complex topics may contribute to common dichotomies of us/them, rich/poor, developed/underdeveloped, rather than helping students navigate difficulties and contradictions inherent in these topics. For instance, the topic of genital manipulation is only briefly introduced to students of My Maasai Life through the content of a single chapter in the text, with no   63 perspectives introduced aside from those summarized and filtered by Wiszowaty. Then, students are quickly assigned to sides – for genital manipulation or against genital manipulation (McAllister & Nixon 27) – and their arguments are based on research solely within the limits of the memoir itself. Teachers are not provided with any background materials to help students navigate this controversial subject; their role seems to be to simply listen to student “discoveries” about the topic. As a result, students are encouraged to debate a topic about which they know relatively little, and what they do know is framed by a privileged, American woman, viewing this issue from the outside. In arguing for or against, they are limited from exploring how the practice has varied significance around the world, why the practice may persist in regions where it has uneven support, or why women may adhere to the practice. Interestingly, this activity contrasts with the topic’s introduction through the memoir, as Robin has a “series of conversations in both formal and informal settings with a range of community members” to explore diverse opinions about the topic (Wiszowaty 107). Unfortunately, despite the fact that literature may be particularly adept at opening readers to the layers and complexities of topics, this debate demonstrates how "too often, infinitely complex issues in history and current events are boiled down into binary perspectives: pros/cons, for/against. While debates and similar activities can be useful teaching tools, they can also deteriorate into adversarial relationships and reinforce dualistic, binary thinking" (Eidoo et al 76). In place of simplification, literature discussion could "encourage more comfort with nuances, contradictions, multiplicity, and complexity" (77) as students and teachers respond together to the difficulties introduced by class texts.   A more nuanced understanding of the contexts and perspectives of Maasai people would also help prevent students from falling into typical patterns of framing them as undeveloped, backwards, or lacking. At times this development lens is expressed quite overtly through unit activities. The My Maasai Life unit is the most explicit in explaining how “Robin travels in a   64 reverse pattern. She moves from the most developed location to the least developed location” (McAllister & Nixon 23). Due to the framing of Schaumburg, Illinois, and Nkoyet-naiborr, Kenya, as “most” and “least” developed, the study sets up a dichotomy between “us” and “them” early in the unit. Dichotomizing these two locations means that when students research “financial stability of people in the land” and “traditions of the people” for the opening activity, they will likely see the Kenyans as impoverished and traditional, beside advanced and modern Americans, without any additional political, historical or economic context. Such representation is typical not only within humanitarian marketing, but also within school textbooks, which contain  visual representations of Africa mostly comprised [by] dry, dusty landscapes, shanty towns, open sewers, enormous rubbish dumps, child soldiers, pollution and overcrowded, resource-poor classrooms. As a collective, these negative images have the effect of portraying majority world countries and their inhabitants as an undifferentiated, homogenized mass of people in crisis facing the indistinguishable effects of largely identical problems. (Bryan & Bracken 114) Through unquestioned repetition, these “identical problems” become what Adichie (2009) terms the “single story” of Africa, a story that is problematic because it “creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete,” shaped by those in positions of power. In the case of this unit, those in power frame Maasai as in need of external help, reducing their issues to the blanket of poverty, rather than exploring the complex historical and political elements of the Maasai position in Kenya. For instance, students learn nothing of the impact of British colonization on the Maasai, which limited their land rights and reduced their sovereignty. Further, they do not study the Maasai struggle within independent Kenya since 1963, wherein Maasai have fought for the return of their land with no success, as these lands are desired by the national government for their economic value through “large-scale   65 agriculture, military installation, hydroelectric dams, tourism, and other forms of commercial development” (“Maasai Autonomy”). Nor do students learn of Maasai activists, such as Samwel Nangiria, who continue to fight for Maasai land rights (Smith). Instead, their understanding is framed through the single story of a single “poor” village. While it may be challenging "to represent structural violence as structural, and as violence, rather than as misfortune, lack, deprivation and suffering" (Jefferess “Humanitarian” 80), it would be helpful for units such as these to introduce a diversity of stories surrounding the Maasai position, in order to avoid reinforcing humanitarian responses to people perceived to be in “need.” Similarly, the community mapping activity for My Maasai Life that explores gender roles in Nyoket-naiborr frames Maasai men and women as in need of external help. In mapping the community, students are asked to “indicate the areas of most need in the village” (25). Throughout this activity, students are positioned overtly as empowered problem solvers, presumed to have the ability to decide how a development agency could affect change within a Maasai village, rather than coming under scrutiny themselves for adhering to the unsustainable, consumptive practices of the West. While the students are positioned as decision makers, Maasai are not introduced as actors who impact their community and make significant decisions about their daily and greater lives. Instead, the activity leads students to view Maasai as men and women who carry out simple responsibilities, such as collecting wood or selling goods in the market, activities which, when viewed from a normative notion of the developed world, become signifiers of “need” rather than signs of the interdependence and cooperation inherent in a healthy subsistence community (cf. Shiva 5). Thus, rather than exploring why Maasai may be facing particular needs or how Maasai address community needs, students are instead asked: “What could be done by an international development agency to improve the quality of life for people in this village?” (25). Furthermore, by only studying the nature of Maasai gender roles as they pertain to need, the other aspects of Maasai identities, roles and abilities are overlooked and   66 ignored, and the community is thus defined in terms of its lack, as defined by the students through their reading of Robin’s experiences. A more balanced exploration of Maasai society would prevent students from further stereotyping “Africans” as “lacking,” as is common when addressing only the issues of non-Western Others. As Soyinka-Airewele & Edozie recognize:  While not meaning to deny that such problems as war and conflict, famine, water scarcity, poverty, overcrowding and so on exist, and that these conditions can and do have a profound effect on people’s quality of life in the Global South, all too often these issues ‘become choices for defining whole continents’ and ‘tend to ignore other critical realities that explain how a majority of [people in majority world countries] go about their daily business’ outside the limelight of humanitarian disasters and other media worthy events.” (qt. in Bryan & Bracken 123) Instead of taking the perspectives of the Maasai seriously, as Stone-Mediatore would recommend, such activities thus reduce these people to their needs and issues, as determined by those in the dominant culture. As a result, any subversive or challenging elements of Maasai perspectives are removed, enabling students to consider responses and actions from their stable positions of privilege, as well as from the humanitarian enterprise behind the unit plans.  In response to the need they see in the people they are reading about, students are accordingly encouraged to consider the work of international development agencies, as well as how they, as young people, could join in this development work. Both units uncritically support the work of development agencies, actively promoting the work of Free the Children and its related projects. Readers of Craig’s story consider how his experiences led to the ability of Free the Children to “help thousands of children around the world” (McAllister 31). In wrapping up their study of My Maasai Life, students similarly explore the world of development agencies such as CIDA, Free the Children, and Me to We, in order to consider, “What are their achievements?” (McAllister & Nixon 31), without concern for their limitations. Furthermore,   67 teachers are encouraged to connect their students directly with the projects of Free the Children, which promise to provide students with a “tangible way of acting on what they’ve learned…[in order to] move them from apathy to active citizenship” (McAllister & Nixon 53). Within an educational environment, Free the Children appeals to teachers by listing school-based results to their fundraising programs: students will “learn important leadership skills, bring together the student body for a common cause, and know that their actions are making a difference in their community and around the world” (53). All of these recommendations reflect a “band aid” approach, whereby overly-simplistic and ineffectual solutions are recommended, based on a desire to enable students to help or “make a difference,” reducing "the lives of inhabitants of the Global South to ‘causes’ about which ‘we’ in the Global North can feel good – or at least better – about ourselves,” rather than helping students face “complex realities which would require radically different responses if they were to be meaningfully addressed" (Bryan & Bracken 77). As a result, the development orientation of the activities leaves dominant ideologies unquestioned, minimizing the possibility of transformation that would lead to political and ethical accountability and a reconsideration of the reader’s engagement in public life.   Humanitarian Agenda Prevents Critical GCE  While the two units provide some space for reflection and take steps towards a contextual approach to the memoirs, both reinforce for students normative humanitarian beliefs and a moral basis for action, rather than promoting meaningful engagement with difference that leads to consideration of how knowledge and understanding are situated. Instead of encountering the voices of marginalized writers, as recommended by Stone-Mediatore, students learn about global others through the experience narratives of exemplary humanitarians, whose experiences remain foregrounded and whose assumptions remain largely unquestioned throughout the units. By assuming students will learn from and potentially emulate these exemplary humanitarians, the   68 units thus construct global citizens as privileged subjects with the potential to instigate change in the world. Unfortunately, this leaves little space for students to explore other ways of relating to those beyond their borders, except for what is offered through the humanitarian model. For instance, students are not introduced to transnational organizations such as Child Workers in Asia, a “network of over seventy eight organizations and child workers' groups” that works across borders to address the complexities of child labor by lobbying for education and “laws that addresses the worst forms of child labour,” to “advocate and monitor the ratification and implementation of all international conventions and standards on the elimination of child labour” and to protect children in conflict (“Child Workers”). By considering the work of such organizations, students would be more prepared critique the mandates of humanitarian organizations such as Free the Children, who – by contrast – work to “educate, engage and empower youth to become active local and global citizens. Through our holistic and sustainable development model—Adopt a Village—we work to remove barriers to education and to empower communities to break the cycle of poverty” (“About Us”). Furthermore, students do not turn their gaze back upon themselves to question Canadian consumptive practices that perpetuate child labor or to examine the implications of tourism for Maasai land rights. As a result, students never work through potentially unsettling alternatives to dominant Canadian conceptions of “development” and “poverty”; without critical reflection on these assumptions, it is unlikely that students would be able to imagine alternatives to the kinds of development aid presented by Me to We.  By learning about such alternatives to the familiar development discourse presented by Me to We, students may begin to challenge the notion that change and development originate in the West, with students who “make a difference.”   Thus, while these units present some practical examples of how Canadian classrooms may read for critical global citizenship, there is still further to go in pedagogically developing and implementing Stone-Mediatore’s reading for enlarged thought within literature classrooms.   69 A model of reading for critical GCE  The two Free the Children units are largely unproductive in demonstrating how to educate for critical global citizenship through literature. Their selection of memoirs by benevolent humanitarians reinforce dominant assumptions and erase the voices of child laborers and Maasai community members. Further, through empathetic activities and prescribed modes of action, the units refrain from meaningful engagement with difference, whereby students would begin to recognize their previously unquestioned assumptions and potential complicity in the experiences of other people through what may be an uncomfortable learning process. As a result, it is now necessary to make strides towards a model of reading literature for the development of critical global citizenship within Canadian schools. As Andreotti and de Souza discovered through the implementation of their curriculum project, Through Other Eyes, teachers will “walk minefields” in translating theory into practice, due to the challenges of addressing complex colonial histories and sensitive issues of cultural representation, at times with students for whom the theoretical language is unfamiliar or inaccessible. Further, the students themselves represent a diversity of subject positions, and each of them may respond differently to the challenging course material, particularly when their own beliefs and assumptions may be questioned. Finally, the process of critical GCE is ongoing and iterative, so with every gain comes further questions, as learners continue to revisit former assumptions and engage with new ones. Despite these minefields, however, there is value in exploring more effective means of educating for global citizenship through literary study, in order to avoid reproducing many of the benevolent, hegemonic attitudes in existing literary teaching for global citizenship, such as those from Me to We.   In establishing a framework for citizenship education through literary study, it is necessary to consider both text selection and collective reading practices for a classroom setting. Key to critical GCE is the ability to work with texts that capture the marginalized perspectives   70 promoted by Stone-Mediatore, in place of texts that reinforce existing assumptions through the representation of affluent, benevolent humanitarian figures such as those in the Free the Children units. A well-selected narrative resource, in combination with good pedagogy, can “help a reader to make sense of seemingly alien phenomena” and “throw new light on her own world as well” (Stone-Mediatore Reading 165). Such selection can be challenging for educators, as many stories by those from the global South may be co-authored, edited, produced, or marketed by Western writers, publishers, or NGO’s who inscribe dominant Western narrative structures and ideologies upon these texts, potentially removing challenging, unfamiliar, or oppositional elements from these texts. Though it may be difficult, it is key that educators carefully select literature that provides more complex and nuanced representations of others’ lives, rather than reinforcing hegemonic Canadian narratives regarding Western benevolence or suffering in the global South, as such stories will create space for students to question previously invisible and naturalized notions of development, humanitarian principles and global injustices. The key, therefore, is to find stories not that originate with the marginalized, as these may simply perpetuate existing hegemonies, but those that express marginalized perspectives, over and against the mainstream. To these ends, Chris Abani's novel, Song for Night, David Alexander Robertson and Madison Blackstone’s graphic novel, The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, and the documentary film, Dear Mandela, hold possibilities for critical GCE through their introduction of marginalized perspectives. With careful reading practices, students may engage with marginalized narratives such as these in ways that contribute to their more critical and ethical engagement with others. Andreotti and de Souza (2008) introduce a helpful framework for critical GCE in their project, Through Other Eyes, a professional development resource package for educators that introduces a four-fold process of learning to unlearn, learning to listen, learning to learn and learning to reach out (28-29). Through Other Eyes does not consider literature classrooms specifically, so it is   71 necessary to extend this framework to recommend collective reading practices that cultivate critical GCE through literary study. Thus, in a literature classroom, learning to unlearn would involve the students’ confrontation with a marginalized narrative in ways that fosters recognition of the constructedness of their knowledge and beliefs. Thus aware of their positionality, students would then be ready to learn to listen to others’ stories through unsettling reading practices that help them seriously consider alternative viewpoints, rather than leading them to passive empathy. Next, in learning to learn, students would draw connections between the text and its context, read the narrative up against alternative texts, and develop the cultural literacy necessary to understand its subversive narrative form. Finally, students would learn to reach out by experimenting with the creation of innovative or oppositional texts and representations that connect their learning with the global community. In these ways, students work through a cyclical process of reading that cultivates critical global citizenship through literary study. In order to explore the implementation of this framework, this chapter will provide example reading activities for Song for Night, The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, and Dear Mandela in order begin a conversation of how to more critically educate for global citizenship in literature classrooms.  Part A: Text Selection  Before looking at how to read marginalized experience narratives, it is necessary to first consider which narratives to read. As is evident by the selection of Free the Children and My Maasai Life for units that support the greater Me to We enterprise, text selection carries ideological and material implications. Though not every text would be bound up with an agenda that is so counter to the aims of critical GCE, it is worthwhile to return to Stone-Mediatore to consider how literature teachers can make the most purposeful text choices for their global citizenship classrooms. While Stone-Mediatore calls for the study of marginalized experienced narratives, educators may well ask: which ones?  Within this “decade of life narratives” (Schaffer   72 & Smith 1), this is a fair question, as "critical knowledge and political consciousness do not follow automatically from living in a marginalized social location; they develop only with the struggle against oppression, when this struggle includes the work of remembering and renarrating obscured experiences of resistance to, or tension with, social and cultural norms" (Stone-Mediatore “Mohanty” 125). Furthermore, even when a text may originate in a place of resistance, the Western orientation of the publishing industry impacts the kinds of stories published and circulated, the forms those stories take, and the appeals they make to audiences. That is, stories coming from local sites around the world or from sites of exile, as they are taken up within Western-dominated global information flows, may lose their local specificity and resonance in translation. What is lost and gained in the local to global transits affects patterns of recognition and redress in diverse and often unpredictable ways. (Schaffer & Smith 24) Educators are thus left in the difficult position of sorting through experience narratives that are constructed and promoted for the enlightenment of Western-based readers, where stories are domesticated within empathetic structures of feeling, crafted to perpetuate dominant humanitarian modes of thought, and exotify marginalized narrators for Western consumption. In place of such stories of pity or suffering, educators may source marginalized narratives that demonstrate the dignity and validity of those whose voices are typically ignored or commodified, particularly as they question or challenge dominant knowledges through both content and form. While educators will certainly source texts that best fit their own school and classroom communities, Chris Abani's novel, Song for Night, David Alexander Robertson and Madison Blackstone’s graphic novel, The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, and the documentary film, Dear Mandela, provide examples of marginalized narratives that would be helpful within high school classrooms.   73  As a primary goal of critical GCE is to prevent the repetition of unjust patterns and histories, marginal experience narratives may provide the oppositional knowledge that opens possibilities for the transformation of existing beliefs and institutions. Stone-Mediatore recommends engaging with the experience stories of those who have struggled against oppression and exploitation within the dominant system, as, unlike those belonging to the dominant culture, "people in socially and culturally marginalized positions daily endure the uneven, contradictory effects of a society's accepted beliefs and institutions. Thus their everyday lives register the biases - that is, not simply partialities but politically significant partialities - in beliefs that have been so widely disseminated that they seem 'normal' and institutions so entrenched that they seem 'natural'" (Stone-Mediatore “Stories” 179). Indeed, experience narratives hold a real and lived oppositional power within both marginalized communities and the dominant society to “contradict, complicate, and undermine the grand modernist narratives of nation, progress, and enlightenment” (27). Movements to gather previously untold stories embolden individual members to understand personal experience as a ground of action and social change. Collective movements seed local acts of remembering ‘otherwise,’ offering members new or newly valued subject positions from which to speak and to address members of their own community in acts of solidarity. They also offer members of the dominant community occasions for witnessing to human rights abuse, acknowledging and affirming the rights of others. Through acts of remembering, individuals and communities narrate alternative or counter-histories coming from the margins, voiced by other kinds of subjects—the tortured, the displaced and overlooked, the silenced and unacknowledged—among them. (16) While classrooms may or may not engage in the collection and sharing of marginalized stories, through the process of reading students indeed become witnesses who are relationally implicated in the experiences of others. This relationality is due to the literary qualities of the narratives   74 themselves; even when constructed for the purposes of resistance or awareness, experience narratives do not provide “self-evident data,” and thus call for reader "participation in exploring the meaning of those phenomena" (Stone-Mediatore “Mohanty” 129-30). Further, marginalized experience narratives involve readers in the hard work of interpretation, as these stories are often constructed in ways counter to familiar narrative patterns. As "socially dominant stories provide the shared 'common sense' interpretive frameworks on which all stories depend in order to be communicable" (Stone-Mediatore Reading 132), marginalized stories may contain narrative qualities that may test the comprehension of readers familiar with dominant narrative patterns. In some cases, the narrative differences may reflect significant differences between the dominant and marginalized worldviews; space to reflect on these differences is important for students as they begin to “acknowledge our constitutive blindness to other forms of seeing, knowing and being in the world that do not fit what we can recognize through frames of reference we have become accustomed to” (Andreotti “Critical and Transnational” 45). Through such reading, students are drawn to more deeply consider the context of marginalized narratives, in order to attempt to make sense of that which is unfamiliar, or to reflect on their inability to understand. By connecting with others’ stories and experimenting with alternative possibilities within an educational context, students may work through a process of loss, liberation and openness to "knowing differently, partially and provisionally, from a location other than that one has inherited" (Andreotti “Renegotiating” 6).  Unfortunately, many narratives are constructed and marketed in ways that depoliticize and decontextualize marginalized experiences in order to cater to Western pursuits of enlightenment and understanding. Anti-racist educators have long critiqued multicultural classrooms for selecting texts that are crafted for the moral enlightenment of students in culturally diverse contexts, a critique that is helpful for educators aspiring to critical GCE. As in multicultural classrooms, there is a danger that global citizenship classrooms may select “ethnic”   75 texts, that commodify difference, so their “deployment,” as Palimbo-Liu notes, becomes “profoundly catechistic: that is, instrumentally focused on the production of morally sanitized selves rather than counter-hegemonic ruptures and transformation" (qt. in Taylor “Reading” 299). Through such moralistic, rather than political, texts, conflict and prejudice are not connected with histories, institutions and practices, but are represented as “the consequence of negative attitudes and ignorance about manifestations of difference, which [educators] seek to remedy by cultivating empathy, appreciation, and understanding” (Rezai-Rashti 5). Along this vein, global citizenship educators may find memoirs that have been crafted and promoted in ways that depoliticize and sanitize experience narratives for the moral development of Western readers. For instance, the teen autobiography, Bite of the Mango, is promoted as a story of Mariatu Kamara’s individual survival, which “not only chronicles her physical and emotional journey to the present, but stands as a testament to her astonishing courage and resilience” (Kamara and McClelland, inside flap). The construction of this text, which is done in collaboration between Kamara herself, who is now a UNICEF Special Representative for Children in Armed Conflict, and Susan McClelland, a Canadian journalist, thus focuses Canadian teens on Kamara’s individual story to the detriment of its context.  Little is mentioned of Sierra Leone's colonial past, including its settlement by freed Nova Scotian slaves, or its current economic ties to the West through export of resources such as coffee, cocoa, diamonds and bauxite. By glossing over Sierra Leone’s historical and current context, including its relationship with Canada, students are instead focused on how they can emulate Kamara’s resilience and hope within their own individual situations. As a result, the construction of the text, in terms of its marketing, the stories of Kamara's life it shares, and the narrative framework it utilizes, limits the ability of students to engage with their relationality to Kamara through political, historical and economic ties.   76 As experience narratives are abstracted from their political and historical contexts, Western humanitarian aid is often promoted as the proposed solution to narrators’ personal experiences of suffering. Marginalized experience narratives that are crafted to introduce readers to global issues or to inspire students to “make a difference” through humanitarian programs would have similar effects to the humanitarian marketing materials of organizations such as Me to We, reinforcing power imbalances between the readers and the people that the readers are expected to pity or help. Both humanitarian marketing materials and school textbooks are prone to emphasizing suffering, poverty and conflict in the global South in conjunction with positive images of external intervention and Western notions of development, so that the viewership maintains “the perception that ‘they’ are in need of ‘our’ help” (Bryan & Bracken 116). As an example, the cover of We Need to Go to School: Voices of the Rugmark Children frames the experience narratives of children in Nepal as “sad life stories” that “voice their desire for education,” which is provided by Rugmark Canada: “In their own words, Nepalese children talk about their early years in poverty-stricken villages, their work as virtual slaves in carpet factories, and how they felt when they were given a chance to attend school and pursue their dreams for the future” (Rugmark, back cover). Whether negative or positive, such simplified representations “are likely to reinforce stereotypical understandings, rather than illuminate complex understandings” (Bryan & Bracken 115), being counter-productive to the aims of critical GCE.   Educators must thus do the hard work of looking for texts that neither commodify suffering elsewhere nor promote either Western aid or individual resilience and achievement as simple solutions to what is represented as individualized, decontextualized suffering.  Another issue for educators to consider is the possibility that in catering to Western sensibilities, some writers may be represented as “native informants” on behalf of their national or otherwise marginalized group, either of their own accord or, again, due to the framing and marketing of their stories by Western publishers. In these cases, marginalized experience   77 narratives are valued simply because they are marginal, providing insight into different cultures, histories and experiences, not because they contain oppositional knowledge that challenges dominant modes of thought. Spivak’s critique of the essentialization and romanticization of marginality and ethnicity for the promotion of multiculturalism is thus a warning for critical GCE: Spivak is sceptical of the now fashionable celebration of ‘marginality’ and multiculturalism, and the increasingly important role that native informants play in/for the West…  The problem is that the native informant can too readily don ethnicity as a badge. S/he may indeed be a well informed and prepared investigator, but ‘clinging to marginality’ (1993: 9) also runs the risk of essentialising one’s ethnic identity and romanticising national origins. (Kapoor 630) When viewed as representational of a society or issue, the stories of marginalized narrators are no longer treated as literature but more as “sociological treatises” that provide Western readers with a glimpse into what is perceived as a homogenized collective (cf. Taylor “Reading” 308). As an example, the memoir by Wilson Meikuaya and Jackson Ntirkana, The Last Maasai Warriors, is promoted by featuring the two young men as representative of the transition of their entire culture: Wilson and Jackson are a living testament to a vanishing way of life on the African savannah. They are brave warriors of the Maasai, an intensely proud culture built on countless generations steeped in the mystique of tradition, legend and prophecy. They represent the final generation to literally fight for their way of life, coming of age by proving their bravery in the slaying of a lion. They are the last of the great warriors. (We Books) The universalized and exotified representation of Maasai life in transition avoids questions of why the Maasai way of life may be vanishing, if indeed it is vanishing, or how Maasai who are   78 not warriors face this transition differently. The text itself purposefully introduces readers to Maasai life and culture in ways that homogenize Maasai experiences through universalizing words such as “never” or “every”; for instance, “Maasai boys never show they are scared or in pain, for such reactions are seen as shameful to them and their families – even to their entire village” (Meikuaya & Ntirkana 31), and “every Maasai boy takes part in several initiations and ceremonies” (37). Within a society that is homogenized as traditional, Western science and development are seen as inevitable and positive, with Maasai practices being reduced to “ritual” (cf. 17). Readers are thus led into a stereotyped notion of Maasai through the generalized experiences of these two warriors as they “progress” to more Western ways of being. Instead of selecting such texts, educators thus need to do the legwork to find stories that neither essentialize nor exotify the narrator but share her story with all its context and uniqueness. As Appiah argues, it is to these particularities that readers imaginatively respond as they “learn about the extraordinary diversity of human responses to our world and the myriad points of intersection of those various responses” (225). In doing so, readers may begin to understand the diversity and complexity within unfamiliar people groups, the unique ways that individuals experience injustice or promote change within their diverse subject positions, and the networks of relationality between themselves and multiple others. Thus, educators should look beyond stories of suffering, poverty and war influenced by Western humanitarian ideologies to find marginalized experience narratives that present other ways of understanding power, politics, histories and relationships from normative Western narratives. Though they may take several forms, such narratives will counter typical empathetic narrative patterns of the suffering victim, upset humanitarian representation of the “white” savior rescuing racialized people, and address structural issues rather than decontextualized experiences. While educators may still select stories of suffering, it is important that such stories avoid reducing the narrators to objects of pity and readers to the position of benevolent,   79 humanitarian agents. Take, for instance, the common genre of child soldier experience narratives, which many Canadian students currently experience through such stories as Ishmael Beah’s A Long Way Gone.3  This genre is characterized by the cultivation of pity for child soldiers, whose “childhood,” as perceived through a Western lens, has been stolen and must subsequently be restored, saving the “child” from the “soldier” (cf. Moynagh 40). These are often uplifting stories of “innocence corrupted and then restored” (40), where child soldiers survive the war and subsequently succeed, typically in North American societies. Interestingly, child solider narratives from Africa predominate in Western publishing, despite the fact that child soldiers exist in Afghanistan, Columbia, Iraq and Sri Lanka, a fact that leads Moynagh to argue that there is “a place already prepared in the Western imagination for the African child soldier as a subject of violence in need of human rights intervention and rehabilitation—intervention that threatens to mimic colonial infantilising of Africans as needing the ‘protection’ of European powers” (41). The Western humanitarian framing of such stories becomes even less surprising when one considers how “by the time that former child soldiers are in a position to narrate their stories to a writer or editor, they are undoubtedly practiced at producing many of the narrative elements that Western aid workers and journalists have come to expect” (46).  Within this genre, however, such novels as Chris Abani’s Song for Night confront readers with the “ethically unsettling,” providing a “direct challenge to the human rights discourse of the innocent victim” (Moynagh 53). The construction of Song for Night outside contexts of aid and rescue, where survivor stories are often shared with aid workers and journalists before being recorded for a reading public, means that texts such as this are less prone to following patterns of sympathetic human rights narratives than child soldier memoirs. Unlike many experience                                                      3A simple Google search of Canadian curriculum reveals A Long Way Gone to be popular in both high school English and Social Studies classes. For instance, promotes this text within “Literature Connections to The New Social Studies Curriculum: Grade 12” (Delvecchio 2009). It is also an example text for Diversity Education pertaining to Genocide Prevention in Manitoba (Tavares). Additionally, it is a recommended text for the “Surviving and Conquering” theme of ELA 9 in Saskatchewan (Helman 1).   80 narratives, which either “bracket out the violence committed by child soldiers” (44) or portray violent “acts as thrust upon the child, who fearfully and with revulsion carries out orders he or she cannot refuse” (45), the narrator of Song for Night, My Luck, declares: “If we are the great innocents in this war, then where did we learn all the evil we practice? … Who taught me to enjoy killing, a singular joy that is perhaps rivaled only by an orgasm?” (Abani 143). Further, instead of following typical child soldier narrative patterns which conclude with the restoration of innocence or reintegration of the child into healthy society, Song for Night “might arguably be described as an ‘anti-’ or failed coming-of-age story. More than just a matter of a lost or truncated childhood, My Luck is absolutely refused reentry into his social community and his backward-moving journey only ends when he is, instead, reunited with his mother in death” (Mackey 111). The fictional form thus allows the sharing of child soldier stories that end in the death of the protagonist, providing alternative endings to the uplifting stories of rescue and success that dominate child soldier memoirs. Additionally, the fictional form allows for literary interventions such as the “apparition of various kinds of spirits, beasts, ghosts, and zombies” which “[draw] attention to that which has been elided or repressed” and question the nature of what it means to be “human” and part of the human community (Mackey 107), drawing readers to confront the dark side of humanity in ways that memoirs may not. By examining texts such as Song for Night, students may come to question typical representations of child soldiers as victims, as well as their context within Western humanitarian discourse.  Song for Night demonstrates how a fictional piece may fill the role of marginalized experience narrative, as described by Stone-Mediatore. After all, memoir, by nature, contains the inherent difficulty in accurately remembering and representing one’s experiences, giving them a semi-fictional quality; due to the issue of failed or imperfect memories, many “memoirs include disclaimers at the front, saying that names or dates or the sequence of events have been changed, often to protect identities or prevent legal action” (Italie). After the publication of A Long Way   81 Gone, for instance, many questioned Beah for “how he could recall events that happened a decade earlier, when he was in his early-mid teens, continuously endangered and on the run and, by his own account, often under the influence of drugs” (Italie). By contrast, Song for Night is “not burdened with the same task of representing or translating experience as autobiographical life narratives, the fictional child [soldier] here [is] meant to represent no one real person, while at the same time representing many” (Mackey 107). As a result of the overlap between memoir and fictional accounts of child soldiers’ experiences, many critics treat them together (cf. Mackey, Moynagh, Schultheis). Therefore, educators may find fictional accounts of marginalized people, like Song for Night, that do the work of challenging Western assumptions and ideologies, in the ways that Stone-Mediatore calls for.  Another means of bringing Western assumptions under scrutiny, considering alternative relationships between dominant and marginalized groups and rethinking our responsibilities towards others is through stories that challenge Western identity as blameless and benevolent, the humanitarian savior of impoverished, racialized people. While some such narratives may come from beyond our borders, stories that challenge Canada's self-identity by critiquing the injustices that fall within our borders are key for critical GCE. Through a focus only on the stories of stories of marginalization from places other than Canada, there is a danger that GCE will simply involve the projection of our values on others elsewhere, rather than accounting for unjust relations of power within Canada. To these ends, Robertson and Blackstone’s graphic novel, The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, shares aspects of Indigenous experience with colonial violence in Canada with the purpose of educating young people in Canada so they might recognize injustice and begin to bring about social change at home. The novel shares the true story of Helen Betty Osborne, a young Indigenous woman who was kidnapped and murdered in The Pas, Manitoba, in 1971. Her story is told through the perspective of a white narrator, Daniel, whose settler-  82 Canadian perspective is challenged as he begins to learn about the historical context surrounding her life and death. In its treatment of Osborne’s story, the graphic novel narratively expresses the findings of the Manitoba Justice Inquiry of 1999, which looked explicitly at Osborne’s murder and the subsequent police investigation, and concluded that her murder “had been fuelled by racism and sexism” (qt. in Adamson & Kopetsky 3). By tying Osborne’s historical context to Daniel’s present day experiences, the graphic novel thus highlights the significant and ongoing nature of racism and sexism within both personal and societal experiences of Indigenous women such as Osborne, including within the residential school system and policing system, as well as within prevailing social structures and attitudes.  While the graphic novel does not address people who are marginalized beyond Canada’s borders, its treatment of obscured history, ongoing colonial structures, and entrenched identities that shape current Indigenous-settler relations in Canada have parallels in Canada’s colonial approach to international relationships, particularly towards areas perceived to be in need of Western, white saviors. Within this dark history, Daniel “represent[s] our ability [as white Canadians] to change, learn and grow” (Robertson and Blackstone, prologue) as we encounter not only the individual stories of marginalized people as those with “real thoughts, emotions and aspirations” (6), but also how these stories fit within greater social, historical and political contexts. Unfortunately, there are moments when Daniel’s response to Betty’s story borders on appropriative, whereby she is seen as dying “for a reason,” so that he might learn from her (cf. 15, 26). At the same time, neither Daniel nor Canadian society are portrayed as innocent; Betty’s story is powerfully contextualized within a racist and sexist society that “believed Aboriginal women were easy” (7), who committed “cultural genocide” by placing undesirable Indigenous children in residential schools (12), who segregated Indigenous people in theatres and other public spaces (17), who neglected to investigate the disappearance of Indigenous people (17), and who continue to exhibit ongoing structural and personal prejudice towards Indigenous   83 people. In thus demonstrating the failures of Canadian society, the graphic novel challenges the representation of white Canadians as heroes; instead, they are represented as participants in perpetuating violence against Indigenous people. At the same time, the novel provides hope by showing Daniel’s struggle to determine how Betty’s story should impact his own actions. In this way, the graphic novel demonstrates meaningful dialogue between the dominant and marginalized, rather than deferring to “people of color as the central voices and the bearers of all knowledge in class, and white people as ‘observers’ with no responsibility to contribute and/or with nothing valuable to contribute” (Mohanty 194; qtd. in Hoy 17). Despite its limits, the graphic novel represents both the structural and personal violence within Canadian society that has the potential to challenge not only historical but also existing Canadian hegemonic narratives. In critical GCE, such a novel helps challenge national identities in ways that may lead to more ethical engagement with those who are marginalized both within and beyond national borders. Though both Song for Night and The Life of Helen Betty Osborne share stories of suffering, educators need not look only to such stories when selecting experience narratives for the critical global citizenship classroom. Other texts may share powerful and positive stories of marginalized people, who act to bring change within their situations rather than relying on humanitarian “saviors.”  Such stories help challenge the Western, humanitarian models that are common in Canadian media, and question the representation of the “poor” as helpless victims, awaiting external help. While it is a documentary film and not a literary text, Dear Mandela shares the stories of various people connected to Abahlahi baseMjondolo, the “largest movement of the poor to emerge in post-apartheid South Africa” (“The Film” Dear Mandela).  Zulu for “people of the shacks,” Abahlahi defends the demolition of homes in Durham, South Africa, by a post-apartheid government working to eradicate slums by removing slum-dwellers at gunpoint. Abahlali provides direct advisement and care for residents whose homes are threatened and   84 instigates legal action against such bills as the Slums Act, all the while navigating simultaneous hope and frustration surrounding Mandela's promise to ensure proper housing for all.  While the film highlights the social movement, providing viewers with a comprehensive understanding of Abahlali within a political and historical context, it also conveys the daily lives of various residents of the Kennedy Road settlement, including those of two young people, Mazwi and Zama. Beautifully shot, the film captures life in Kennedy Road as a true community, with footage of shacks highlighting not abject poverty but the violence of having one’s home repeatedly numbered by the government with spray paint – or left unmarked and thus destined for demolition. Far from representing the residents of Kennedy Road as mere victims, the documentary highlights intersecting issues of economics, gender, and social position on the active and resilient responses of Mazwi, Zama and others to a politically, historically and legally rooted issue. Through Mazwi’s story, for instance, viewers experience an exemplary young person, balancing life as both a busy student and a young leader within Abahlahi, while awaiting – and lobbying for – a house promised to his family in 1994. The film culminates in the success of Abahlahi’s case against the Slums Act in constitutional court, a success won through the legal efforts of this social movement, not through the work of a white, humanitarian hero. By connecting the personal stories of young people to legal and political issues, the documentary highlights the importance of addressing structural issues rather than simply sending aid to those in need, while also demonstrating the capabilities of young South Africans who may otherwise be dismissed by Canadian teens as simply impoverished slum-dwellers. As these examples demonstrate, careful effort may lead to the discovery of engaging, age-appropriate texts and films that avoid expressing marginalized experiences in ways that cater to Western sensibilities, assumptions and beliefs, instead unsettling students in ways that lead to learning for critical global citizenship. Classroom engagement with such texts will not always be easy, as such narratives may not only function outside Western narrative conventions, but they   85 may also lead readers to feel unsettled or disturbed through the narrative encounter. Readers may struggle to discover that texts are not simply written for their own empathetic enlightenment but to share valid experiences, present alternative viewpoints or even to directly implicate readers in global relationships that may be upsetting for students to discover. In fact, the goal for selecting a testimony or experience narrative within a critical global citizenship classroom may thus be that students will “feel uncomfortable rather than virtuous” as they read, that they will come to “understand that almost by definition the subaltern, which will in some cases be a component of their personal identity, is not, and cannot be, adequately represented by literature or in the university [or any classroom], that literature and the university are among the practices that create and sustain subalternity” (Beverly 432). As a result, it is necessary to consider how such texts should be approached through the collective reading practices of a classroom community.  Part B: Reading Practices  While selecting an appropriate text is the first step, critical global citizenship educators then face the challenge of “transform[ing], in a respectful and responsible manner” (Stone-Mediatore Reading 163), someone else’s experiences of struggle into a resource for the classroom’s critical knowledge. This is an active, imaginative, resistant and creative process whereby readers work “not to mimic others’ views” but to “be open to what the other’s story has to tell” (164), critically examining their own “common sense” beliefs in light of another’s narrated experiences. While this process is individual, insofar as readers must reflect on their own assumptions and beliefs in response to the text, it is also collective, as readers engage with one another, as well as with a narrator whose dignity and perspective cannot be ignored. Such reading is thus a deeply relational process, as students begin to recognize: “who I am…is bound up with how it is I will respond to the address of another whose experiences cannot be reduced to versions of my own” (Simon 136). Through the conceptual framework underlying Through   86 Other Eyes (2008), a unit for the professional development of critical global citizenship educators, Andreotti and de Souza theorize a critical reading practice as involving cyclical stages of learning to unlearn, learning to listen, learning to learn, and learning to reach out. Example activities connected with the three texts introduced above demonstrate how these stages can be applied and extended within literature classrooms, as groups of readers explore marginalized experience narratives for the cultivation of critical global citizenship.  Learning to unlearn  The first step in the conceptual framework involves “learning to unlearn,” whereby students learn “to perceive that what one considers as neutral and objective is a perspective and is related to where one is coming from socially, historically and culturally” (Andreotti & de Souza TOE 5). In any global citizenship classroom, this may involve a process of analyzing and deconstructing mainstream perspectives and one’s position in relation to the mainstream, considering how “although we are different from others in our own contexts, we share much in common with them” (Andreotti & de Souza “Translating” 28). If students were to learn to unlearn in a literature classroom specifically, they would need to explore the gaps between the storyteller and themselves as readers, alongside the multiple story readers within a classroom setting. When educators hope to encourage true learning from marginalized experience narratives, it is dangerous to assume that one can encounter the Third World, and especially the Third World subaltern, on a level playing field. Our interaction with, and representations of, the subaltern are inevitably loaded. They are determined by our favourable historical and geographic position, our material and cultural advantages resulting from imperialism and capitalism, and our identity as privileged Westerner or native informant. (Kapoor 631)   87 Thus, time needs to be taken within any literary unit to create a respectful learning environment, wherein readers can explore their diverse positions in relation to the marginalized narrators they encounter and in relation to one another. It is only by first deconstructing their own perspectives that readers will be prepared to “test [their] biases by actively considering the standpoint of others” (Stone-Mediatore Reading 189) through conversations about difficult questions or in the construction of new knowledge. Before reading, and ongoing throughout literary units, it is thus critical that educators acknowledge how learners are influenced by multiple identities and associations, and that "not all students [relate] to curricula, global issues and classroom practices in the same way" (Eidoo et al 77). Due to the potentially unsettling implications of marginalized experience narratives, learners require a safe and supportive space, within which they can explore potentially oppositional, uncomfortable or experimental responses, from the diversity of their subject positions. Students may thus be introduced to how each person looks at the world through lenses constructed in a complex web in our contexts, influenced by several external forces (cultures, media, religions, education, upbringing), internal forces (personality, reactions, conflicts) and encounters and relationships. The image these lenses project represent our knowledge of ourselves and of the world and, therefore, whether they are close to or far from what is considered ‘normal,’ they have a history and their validity needs to be acknowledged within the space. (Andreotti, Barker & Newell-Jones 4) Thus, critical GCE may begin with activities that develop classroom safety and respect, where students feel “free to explore their lenses within the space (even things they are and aren’t allowed to say or think in a normal situation)” (Andreotti, Barker & Newell-Jones “Facilitation”). Once students have the opportunity to consider their own lenses, histories and positions within the safety of the classroom, they can then bring these into dialogue with the text in   88 question, considering for example: “How does my identity in terms of race, class, gender, ability, sexual orientation, ethnicity, age, language, or religion shape my reading of this text?  How do(n’t) I relate with characters in power or with marginalized characters in this novel?  How might this positionality shape my reading of the text?” (Borsheim-Black 130). When dealing with a text from an oft-stereotyped region or people group, students may be asked not only what they know about this place or people, but also what specifically may have shaped their perspective, including personal experiences and connections, media representations, and prior study in school. For instance, prior to viewing Dear Mandela, students could free-associate with the term, “slum,” creating an image of life in temporary settlements according to their existing understandings. Then, students could consider the various influencers on their conception of slums, whether this be previous reading, footage from films, images from humanitarian marketing, conversations with family or friends, media coverage, encounters through humanitarian travel or voluntourism, personal experiences or more. One way of building this list could be through a collage; then, as students proceed through the film, they may summarize new knowledge on colored sticky notes, which can then be placed over aspects of the collage that this new information counters, reinforces or modifies. Such an activity would help students recognize influencers on their attitudes and begin to recognize potential limits of their knowledge, as well as the sources of this knowledge. Rather than feigning objectivity, students may be encouraged to acknowledge how their lenses may impact their responses to the text.  Throughout the unit, students may continue to explore their positions, at times through such self-reflexive questions as those above, and at others through dialogue with their classmates. For classroom dialogue, educators may experiment with various student groupings, at times clustering students according to similar positions and at other times with those who are different. These groupings could bring together students with similar political positions, students who associate with particular groups or locations represented in the text, or who agree or   89 disagree with particular issues raised by the text. For instance, in studying The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, this could entail bringing students’ perspectives into dialogue through a U-shaped discussion. In Adamson and Kopetsky’s unit plan for The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, students are asked to independently reflect on such statements as “Aboriginal people and non-Aboriginal people are always treated equally, now and in the past” and “society’s treatment of Aboriginal people is usually negative” (7). Instead of reflecting independently, students could respond as a class by forming a U-shape, where the U extends from “strongly agree” to “strongly disagree.”  Students at opposite ends of the U could then listen to one another’s opposing perspectives, and students in the middle of the U could share why their perspectives were ambivalent or mixed, helping students to recognize differences within the classroom. In beginning to understand the differences and intersections of their own and others’ positions and perspectives, students will take the first steps in cultivating an “ethical relationship to difference, addressing complexity and power relations” (Andreotti “Soft” 48) in their relationships with others, and building a necessary foundation to learning from marginalized experience narratives.  Learning to listen Once students have begun learning to unlearn, they may then explore not only how their positions shape their reading of the text – but also how the text may “read” them in return, challenging their normative assumptions. Andreotti & de Souza define the next stage as “learning to listen,” whereby students will come “to recognize the effects and limits of [their] perspective[s] and to be receptive of new understandings of the world” (“Translating” 28). In a literature classroom, this would involve critical engagement with experience narratives and the subsequent struggle with the difficult knowledge that arises through this encounter. By listening critically to marginalized experience narratives, students will be guided through a process of loss, liberation and openness to "knowing differently, partially and provisionally, from a location   90 other than [those they have] inherited" (Andreotti “Renegotiating” 6), rather than responding to others’ stories with passive empathy. Furthermore, students will face the destabilizing realization that through stories, they are learning more from other people than about them, as “interpretations of what we hear or see might say more about us than about what is actually being said or shown” (Andreotti & de Souza “Translating” 28, italics mine). Through this process, it is necessary that educators guide students through the likely crisis that comes through critical engagement with another’s perspective, particularly when that perspective may demonstrate how students “benefit from and control…unjust and violent systems and structures” (Andreotti “Soft” 46). As a result, students will become more comfortable with the sometimes difficult self-reflexivity that leads to accountability towards others. Rather than leading students through challenging, self-reflexive activities that encourage students to explore and respond to the perspectives of others, literary units often involve empathetic activities that unfortunately reinforce hegemonic beliefs, rather than opening students to alternative viewpoints, as well as the contexts and implications of these viewpoints. When reading about others elsewhere, students are often asked, “what would you do if you were in the narrator’s position?” or “in what ways are your day and your life different from the narrator’s?”, questions which are “arguably designed to produce empathy and understanding towards Others” (Taylor “Reading” 300). Unfortunately, these activities dichotomize difference so that “we” belong to a world of modernity/wealth/luck while “they” belong in a world of backwardness/poverty/lack. While it may be initially helpful for students to compare and contrast, such practices may “deteriorate into adversarial relationships and reinforce dualistic, binary thinking" (Eidoo et al 76). Such dichotomies foreclose learning from others’ stories, as their narratives are read in ways which, “at best…[produce] feelings of pity, compassion or empathy for ‘less fortunate Others’” and at worst, “reinforce a sense of privilege and cultural superiority and fail to interrogate the internationally derived political and economic conditions   91 … or, indeed, how ‘us’ – concerned global citizens – are complicit with the systems that perpetuate these phenomena” (Schaffer & Smith 67). Thus, rather than focusing on us/them comparisons, classrooms should "encourage more comfort with nuances, contradictions, multiplicity, and complexity" (Eidoo 77), which are inherent in literature.  One way to move beyond simple categories may be to begin with them, with the goal of deconstructing these very categories (cf. Andreotti & de Souza “Translating” 30-1). Thus, readers of Song for Night may begin by a simple categorization of My Luck as a victim, hero or perpetrator, providing examples from the text to support their choice. Then, students may move on to provide examples of how My Luck also fits the other two categories, considering the various influences on his outlook and behavior, including politics, history, survival, family background, religious tensions, romantic love, loyalty to his squadron, and others. In doing so, they may begin to understand the moral ambiguity of his situation, recognizing the contradictory beliefs he holds and actions he takes, and potentially moving beyond reductive categorization of My Luck as a child soldier in need of rescue. When students have difficulty understanding My Luck’s perspective, they should be discouraged from dismissing their gaps or questions, instead being encouraged to consider why they perceive him in a particular way, unpacking their own assumptions and biases. Educators should thus encourage self-reflexivity within the classroom by crafting activities that are meaningful and accessible to students but avoid questions that do not lead to critical consideration (such as: what do you think of child soldiers?) or that only evoke emotional responses (such as: how do you feel when My Luck commits violent acts?) (cf. Andreotti, Barker & Newell-Jones “Material Design”). By carefully crafting questions, educators encourage students to move beyond empathy and simple categories to consider complexity, including the origins and implications of their own and the narrator’s perspectives, how both perspectives may – at once – be true despite their contradictions. Though this process may   92 invoke discomfort in students, educators should avoid consolation or easy answers, instead allowing their students to struggle with new and difficult knowledge. In order to open students up to the new knowledge that marginalized experience narratives may offer, helping their students listen to and experiment with other perspectives, educators can lead students to confront the ways that the West typically commodifies or domesticates stories from those in the global South. Rather than allowing students to encounter marginalized experience narratives unquestioningly through their current lenses, educators can help students see how they frame otherness in ways that reinforce unequal relations of power, “lock[ing] possibilities for equal grounds for meaningful dialogue where the self is open to challenge and be challenged by difference" (Andreotti & de Souza “Translating” 26). For instance, after viewing Dear Mandela, students could return to their preconceptions of slums and poverty, reflecting on how the film challenged their views. Furthermore, to imaginatively engage with the people in the film, students could write letters to Mazwi or Zama, explaining what they have learned from these people and how students may admire them, but also expressing confusion and asking questions where there are gaps in their understanding, acknowledging the difficulties of fully comprehending another’s position. Alternatively, students could create a dialogue between themselves and one of these characters, where their perspectives are brought into discussion, challenging and building upon one another. Rather than placing themselves in Mazwi’s or Zama’s shoes, students would thus work to examine those shoes and think about the difficulties of putting them on, as they reflect upon their own positions in dialogue with another (cf. Andreotti & de Souza “Minefields” 26). In so reflecting on their own struggles to see the world through others’ eyes, readers may also consider the lenses they use to frame otherness. For instance, readers could consider their tendencies to view others through the lenses provided in the review of Through Other Eyes: the missionary, where one engages with difference as a saviour; the teacher, where one enlightens an Other lacking in knowledge; the tourist, where the   93 Other is consumed for entertainment purposes; and, finally, the anthropologist, where an observer seeks to preserve the Other (Andreotti & de Souza “Translating” 26). Noting their responses to the film, students may actively consider how they may be prone to one or more of these lenses, noting the limits of their own perspectives; subsequently, they may imagine different lenses that shape their perspectives of others, particularly as they come to acknowledge other ways they resist or engage with difficult knowledge. By facing the limits of their abilities to see others – or, in Andreotti and de Souza's terms, “listen” to others – students will be more prepared to try out other ways of seeing the world. As readers begin to acknowledge their lenses and to respond honestly and perhaps uncomfortably to experience narratives, educators must help students confront new and destabilizing knowledge that may test the limits of their perspectives. Unlike some global citizenship materials, which promote “fun” and “fulfillment” as inherent to classroom activities, or jump quickly to “sentimentalism, idealism, or false hope” (Todd 9), such confrontations with the uncomfortable knowledge that comes from truly listening to another place resistance at the heart of critical GCE: Focusing on the kinds of difficult knowledge triggered as we learn about social injustice, mass suffering and our own implication within their conditions - knowledge that contradicts values and self-images that allow us to pursue our lives and sleep well at night - situates this resistance in learning within the friction of countering our quotidian inhabitation of authoritative discursive formations and flows of hegemonic social affect. (Taylor “Against” 61) Educators thus have the challenging role of holding open moments of resistance or crisis, particularly as students are familiar with the “fun,” “quick-fix” responses promoted by popular humanitarian marketing materials. To help students process these difficult confrontations, Taylor recommends transparently discussing moments when students recall having been “pushed   94 beyond their comfort zones by unfamiliar contexts in which their most fundamental assumptions about the world, human nature and themselves - assumptions usually implicit in our lives in ways that allow us to act with a certain confidence regarding what things mean and how to respond - were not shared or were problematized as requiring conscious skepticism or revision" (Taylor “Against” 61). Then, she encourages students to reflect on the “D’s of Resistance,” including such responses as the tendencies to “deny,” “discredit,” “detach” or “despair” when encountering difficult knowledge. By reflecting upon their own responses to the text, students may come to acknowledge their privilege and their natural tendencies to avoid complicity in global relations. The goal of reflecting on means of resistance “is not to criminalize them (‘These are the wrong responses to our study of global injustice; avoid these and you’ll be fine’)” but “to launch an ongoing practice of self-observation and close listening within group discussions that both expect and seek to learn from these everyday practices of resistance" (64). Through an ongoing reflection upon and recognition of their resistance to difficult knowledge, students begin to open themselves to truly listening to the oppositional knowledge that may help them modify their outlooks and take steps towards more ethical relationality with others.  Learning to learn Once they become more open to the perspectives of Others, by “learning to learn,” readers will engage with complexity as they learn “to situate [themselves] and others and to compare, contrast and juxtapose conceptual models (thinking outside the box)” (Andreotti & de Souza TOE “Introduction”), deepening their understanding by renegotiating and re-arranging their original perspectives in the face of new knowledge. Key to this process is a growing comfort with discomfort as learners increasingly embrace complexity and ambiguity as they face the reality that “what we do not know we do not know” (Andreotti & de Souza “Translating” 29). In a literature classroom, learning to learn would involve the deepening of destabilizing   95 reading practices as students develop more complex understandings of the narrator’s context and their own implications with this context, consider alternative viewpoints through engagement with multiple texts, and explore the literary power of the narrative to challenge hegemonic patterns. In so engaging with the narrative, students will begin to foster a critical global citizen’s ability to learn from and with an Other, wherein more “equal grounds for dialogue are created” that could lead to “more informed, responsible, and ethical action” (Andreotti “Soft” 48). To further empower students to “reflect critically on the legacies and processes of their cultures” (Andreotti “Soft” 48), reading activities could help students consider the construction of these perspectives within specific geographic, historical, cultural, political contexts. After all, the “cultural literacy of the audience plays a crucial role in the appreciation of any particular literature” (LaRocque 213), and this literacy is particularly important when students encounter those who are either unfamiliar or stereotyped. Where there may be “absence of basic knowledge and misinformation” (LaRocque 213, italics original) about a particular group, as may be the case where humanitarian marketing, unbalanced textbooks and societal biases have influenced student understandings of Others elsewhere, students must deconstruct their existing assumptions and beliefs as they develop new understandings about other cultures, histories, and people groups. So, for instance, students of The Life of Helen Betty Osborne should be introduced to the colonial context of The Pas, the residential school system, and the findings of the Manitoba Justice Inquiry, and be encouraged to consider the construction of the graphic novel as a work of resistance and reconciliation within the broader context of the ongoing work of reconciliation in Canada. Accordingly, educators for critical GCE may draw upon critical literacy practices that help students “learn to learn” by asking questions about the assumptions or beliefs of the author and illustrator of the graphic novel, how the narrator’s context may be shaping his perspective, the implications of this viewpoint, and what may be the strengths, limitations or contradictions of this perspective (cf. Andreotti, Barker & Newell-Jones 22).      96 Additionally, educators may incorporate supplementary texts from multiple genres or perspectives that help students develop a more rounded view of the issues, locations or identities in question. Rather than providing context solely through Western-based textbooks or websites, which may simply entrench the mainstream perspective, educators may introduce additional “counterstories,” which would help either develop or question the perspective introduced by the marginalized narrator. Counterstories may also prevent readers from inadvertently reifying experience narratives, particularly when reading about an unfamiliar location, culture, history, or issue – or a familiar one that has been repeatedly framed for them through a dominant, Western perspective. The pedagogical practice of incorporating multiple texts “based on similar literary themes offers students the opportunity to critique the values or voices that are being promoted. Furthermore, this practice challenges the idea that meaning is fixed and encourages students to use evidence to support their interpretation. Students can evaluate the social, cultural, and historical frameworks of texts by analyzing differing perspectives of a single event” (Coffey). For readers of The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, supplementary texts could include Marilyn Dumont’s poem, “Helen Betty Osborne,” the film Conspiracy of Silence, the Stolen Sisters report by Amnesty International on missing and murdered women, and/or the Facebook page for the Helen Betty Osborne Memorial Foundation. By connecting the graphic novel with other representations of Betty’s story, students are encouraged to recognize the aesthetic value and diversity of Indigenous art forms (cf. LaRocque 215-217), to explore the power and limits of this particular graphic novel in treating issues of racism towards Indigenous women, and to engage more seriously with this particular text. Another means of highlighting additional perspectives would be to introduce a variety of brief quotations from multiple speakers on a topic such as “reconciliation” or “justice” in Canada, similar to how the Through Other Eyes unit incorporates multiple perspectives on a seemingly familiar topic such as “development,” in order to help   97 students identify the assumptions behind their own beliefs.4  To locate counterstories for other units, teachers might search for “texts written by writers, musician, activists, artists, or politicians who were active at [the time of the experience narrative]” (Borsheim-Black 128) in order to provide students with the opportunity to explore other genres, such as poetry, fiction, news reports, websites, films, or others, that represent similar topics in alternative ways. It is key for educators to remember that the goal of introducing a variety of perspectives is not simply to admire diversity or “agree to disagree,” but to consider the limitations of various standpoints, challenge previously unquestioned assumptions and prevent homogenized understandings of either the dominant or Other positions.  In order to truly learn to learn, readers should attend to the literary and aesthetic qualities of the primary and supplementary texts in question. Some readers may be accustomed to consuming marginalized experience narratives as part of humanitarian marketing materials and textbooks, where the stories are often crafted for awareness or fundraising campaigns. This utilitarian view of others’ stories negates their artistic, persuasive and literary elements. By contrast, LaRocque calls for such aesthetic study of Indigenous literature within a North American context, arguing how “it is through literature we can best illuminate Native individuality, psychology as well as fluidity, and we can do this without compromising Native cultural diversity or the colonial experience” (217). Not only would aesthetic study illuminate the humanity of unfamiliar people, but it would also help students engage with aspects of marginalized stories that may not fit typical Western narrative patterns. Through such literary study, readers will be introduced to the creative and subversive authority of a narrator working                                                      4At times, unit activities abstract perspectives from their speakers, presumably to remove reader bias (cf. Andreotti & de Souza TOE 8). At other times, perspectives are linked with named individuals, whose photographs and hometowns are shown, likely to personalize and contextualize the statement (cf. 11). Finally, within case studies, each perspective is linked with a brief summary of the speaker’s position, such as “tourist,” “social activist,” or “Maori academic,” and the assortment of speakers includes the perspectives of two members of a particular “category,” such as Maori women, to prevent representing any particular speaker as a native informant (cf. 28).    98 within or beyond familiar narrative patterns to create oppositional knowledge – knowledge that subsequently generates "reader responsibility for if and how to continue the narrative" (Stone-Mediatore Reading 170). For instance, readers of Song for Night may explore the nature of language in the novel, as it not only tests monolingual forms but also creates a complex and shifting relationality between the narrator and the reader. From the outset of the novel, My Luck creates a community with the reader through direct address: “What you hear is not my voice” (Abani 25). While a relationship between My Luck and the reader is thus established, its complexity and tenuousness is captured in the layers of languages that both join and separate. While the novel is written in English, the reader is “in fact hearing [My Luck’s] thoughts in Igbo” (29). Further, English words also translate the gestured language of the mine sweepers, and at times it is difficult for readers to determine what is spoken aloud and what is gestured. The complex layers of languages may displace readers who are accustomed to the privileged place that the English language holds, upsetting typical power imbalances by establishing My Luck in the place of narrator and interpreter. Along with other narrative elements, for which there is not time to cover here, such use of language constitutes an invitation to the reader “to respond somehow,” though “the only thing guaranteed in the ethical movement toward the other is the certainty of misapprehension,” along with “a sense of connection that calls on (but does not necessarily guarantee) the reader to examine his or her own position within the global market for such narratives” (Mackey 118-119). The literary qualities of Song for Night thus challenge “the very structures of belonging and (human and civil) rights in universal discourses of global community” (118), drawing readers into a deeper understanding of their relationality to those, such as My Luck, who are typically excluded.      99 Learning to reach out  The final stage in the cycle involves “learning to reach out,” whereby students learn to apply new learning “to [their] own contexts and in [their] relationships with others, continuing to reflect on and explore the unknown: new possible ways of being, thinking, doing, knowing and relating” (Andreotti & de Souza “Translating” 29). To these ends, educators should not be quick to console students as they confront difficult knowledge; instead, they should provide the "critical and ethical tools to respond to this crisis" (Taylor “Beyond” 181) in order to foster creative and experimental means of “reaching out.”  To enable students to “reach out” within a literature classroom, educators would need to provide students with the tools to create innovative, persuasive or oppositional texts and representations that connect students’ learning with the greater community, as creative acts of citizenship. Unlike the prescribed outcomes of humanitarian units such as those developed by Free the Children, the outcomes of critical global citizenship classrooms may thus be more unpredictable, as each student negotiates and contextualizes their learning in relation to their individual subject positions and within their communities. In providing students with opportunities to experiment with connecting their reading with their own contexts, educators will work to prevent the cynicism that may arise from “difficult and ‘emotionally heavy’ material” that many teachers fear will leave students with a “sense that the world is irredeemably a ‘bad’ place” (Bellomo et al. 101). Furthermore, by emphasizing the iterative nature of reaching out, teachers may create a space for students to test and evaluate alternative responses to their learning. In doing so, global citizenship classrooms will cultivate the “sceptical optimism” that leads to creative and oppositional global citizenship.   Within literature classrooms, which primarily deal with representations – whether narrative, poetic, factual, visual or otherwise – “learning to reach out” may involve student development of alternative representations that respond to or extend beyond the text. To push students beyond familiar humanitarian responses to others, teachers can design “assignments that   100 position students as agents of change by setting up opportunities for them to…engage literary texts for both academic and ‘real-life’ purposes—emphasizing the value their analyses have beyond the classroom” (Borsheim-Black, Macaluso & Petrone 131). Students could experiment with alternative means of addressing the issues and identities raised by the marginalized experience narrative through such cultural productions as publications, campaigns, documentaries, critiques, letters, films, websites, social media campaigns, poetry or experience narratives. Through their projects, students could be encouraged to experiment not simply with alternative solutions to others' problems, as humanitarian projects often do, but to instead work with alternative means of understanding issues from marginalized perspectives, establishing relationships across borders, and of representing others elsewhere. For instance, students might:  review ways to “Take Action” in response to Dear Mandela as recommended on their website (e.g. support the Abahlali BaseMjondolo movement, host a screening of Dear Mandela, or document eviction), compare this list with ways students typically take action at school, and make recommendations for how the school could more effectively work in solidarity with people in temporary settlements. Part of this assignment may involve selecting one action item from the website and following through.  compare and contrast the ways child soldiers are represented in Song for Night and another text, such as Ishmael Beah’s A Long Way Gone or a film, such as Blood Diamond  compare/contrast different treatments of Helen Betty Osborne’s story from multiple genres/perspectives; alternatively, conduct additional research on missing and murdered women in Canada and relate this research to the text  create satirical or oppositional publications such as zines, which question or overturn familiar, dominant representations of child soldiers  collect anthologies of poems from locations or cultures where oral traditions influence literary production, in order for students to explore non-Western literary forms and the   101 alternative knowledges of generations in transition between oral and written traditions (cf. LaRocque 215)  develop a social media campaign that introduces marginalized perspectives on a single topic, along the lines of the Facebook group, “The Africa We Know and Love,” a Facebook group that strives to demonstrate how “Our Africa is not only of wars and famine, our Africa is more diverse and exciting than usually portrayed in media.”  Students could search for online materials such as stories, blogs, photography, art, and articles from diverse, non-dominant/Western sources to demonstrate diverse perspectives of the topic and create dialogue.  seek out young adult literature or short stories from a contest or competition from beyond their home community/country, select a favourite story, and write a letter to the author  construct a map/web of interconnections between one’s self and the narrator  perform a play that is written by someone from a marginalized position, such as Yvette Nolan’s Annie Mae’s Movement While these are only a few examples, they provide means by which students might “reach out,” through relational engagement with others and others’ ideas as communicated through literary works, through more overt activism or political writing, or by re-presenting that which is typically represented via hegemonic means.  In order for student initiatives to contribute to the development of critical global citizenship, educators may introduce an iterative process whereby students are encouraged to both take risks and evaluate the strengths and limitations of their own work. Cultivating an atmosphere of risk and experimentation is key in order to address the “paralysis and guilt” students may feel in the face of complex issues, due to their own “education/socialization in protected/sheltered environments, which create the desire for things to be simple, easy, happy, ordered and under control” (Andreotti “Critical” 2). When students are encouraged to initiate alternatives, imperfect   102 as they may be, they may begin an iterative process of working “towards deeper and more ethical ways of relating to others and to the world” (3) while recognizing that regardless of the initiative, it would be very difficult to move completely beyond historically conditioned patterns. An accompanying self-assessment of the strengths and limitations of their initiatives would help students not only uncover their residual patterns and assumptions, but also develop an understanding of the complexity and difficulty of changing entrenched patterns and beliefs. Further, a peer assessment would remind students to consider multiple perspectives and to learn from those whose views may be different from theirs. In so creating and critiquing means of reaching out, literature students thus gain experience “participat[ing] in changing structures, assumptions, identities, attitudes and power relations in their contexts” (Andreotti “Soft” 47), developing skills of critical global citizenship that could be transferred across disciplines and into other areas of their lives.   The Cycle of Learning  As students reflect on their learning and their experimentation with expressions of global citizenship, they may recognize their continued need to learn to unlearn, to listen and to learn again. These stages are thus cyclical, and they may overlap throughout a single literary unit, be revisited across units throughout the year, or be transferred to other disciplines through school-wide initiatives. In this way, global citizenship may be presented to students as a process, whereby they are continually learning from and alongside others through literature in order to develop an awareness of the "ethical responsibility inherent to letting someone else exist beyond one person's understanding of him or her" (Pashby “Cultivating” 436). This is very different from many GCE initiatives in high schools, which are not focused on the process of learning but instead on providing students with opportunities to feel empowered by helping others through   103 fundraising projects, by empathetically associating with suffering others through such activities as vows of silence, or by “travelling with a an exotic land” (“Youth Volunteer Trips,” Me to We).  Instead of empowerment, the results of this process are experimentation with and reflection upon alternative means of reaching out, rather than the unquestioning fulfilment of the "normative view of a national citizen reaching out to and recognizing the 'global other'" (Pashby “Cultivating” 435) through the simple and decisive humanitarian or fundraising projects that are common in high schools today. This is not an easy process, as both educators and students become faced with their limits in understanding and responding ethically to others. By reflecting on their learning, students working together may discover other assumptions that may need to be unlearned, additional voices that should be listened to and learned from through further reading, and more refined ways of reaching out in response. Andreotti anticipates the ongoing reflection required of this process, as learning leads to new questions. She models self-reflexivity for her HEADS UP tool, questioning, for instance, how we may “address hegemony without creating new hegemonies through our own forms of resistance” or how we may “address salvationism without crushing generosity and altruism” (Andreotti “Education” 26). These are tough questions that require both educators and learners to confront the difficulties of doing this work, as new knowledges may lead to new ignorances or even new problems (cf. Andreotti “Education” 23), which in turn may lead to further discomfort within an educational system where knowledge acquisition is often expected to lead to certainty, security and solutions. Educators, therefore, hold the responsibility to help students become comfortable with the iterative, ongoing nature of learning for global citizenship – and to become similarly comfortable with the nature of their own work – so that when a unit ends, they may all be motivated to continue learning from and with others, discovering new ways of navigating the complex and evolving contexts that shape our relations with those beyond our borders.    104 Conclusion  By way of conclusion, let us return to the role literary study may play in critical global citizenship education within a Canadian context. Despite the fact that more critical forms of GCE are often interdisciplinary, providing rationale for school-wide, cross-disciplinary educational initiatives, the uneven application of GCE within Canadian schools points to the need for more critical, discipline-specific work at both the theoretical and curricular levels. Even where school-wide global citizenship initiatives exist, they typically involve activities influenced by social studies curriculum, as Evans discovered in a survey of global citizenship programs in Canada and the UK, where “case analysis, public issue research projects, model town councils, peace-building programs, community participation activities, public information exhibits, online international linkages, and youth forums” (416) dominate school-wide initiatives. While these activities are certainly valuable, they focus on action and accomplishment, potentially leading students to do things for others, rather than on the critical thinking and reflexivity that helps students learn from others. Furthermore, their limited scope does not provide for the kinds of learning that may take place in disciplines other than social studies, such as literature, art, science, or media courses, which may approach GCE from different angles. With disciplinary courses still foundational to the educational system in Canada, content-area educators could further develop GCE by engaging in the critical work of determining how global citizenship may be applied within their specific courses, with a thought for how school-wide initiatives could one day become truly interdisciplinary. Such work is particularly necessary as NGO’s such as Free the Children are quick to fill the gap with curriculum materials that direct students towards such organizations’ humanitarian causes, without educating for the critical thought and self-reflexivity that are key to more critical forms of GCE.  Within this context, literature classes hold unique possibilities for learning for critical global citizenship, as long as educators take the time to carefully and critically consider course   105 materials. As the first chapter explores, literary study holds deep potential as a means of learning from others, particularly when it involves serious engagement with marginalized experience narratives. Consider the current educational context: Evans’ study finds that “very few [teachers] discussed the use of non-mainstream resource support” (421) in global citizenship classrooms. Instead, where mainstream texts remain the norm, most classroom environments included a range of newspapers, textbooks, magazine articles, and videos to support knowledge acquisition and skill development. Textbooks, in many cases, informed the course framework and provided core information. Newspaper articles and videos, in particular, were viewed as important sources of information to complement texts, to provide information about contemporary issues, and to support skill development (e.g. reading for the main idea). (420-1)   With mainstream sources being used as means of knowledge acquisition and skill development, there is a void of marginalized texts that may encourage students to question national or mainstream knowledges. Without the introduction of texts that may help students consider other ways of knowing, thinking, and relating to others, it is likely that students will simply exhibit a form of global citizenship that projects Western assumptions and structures on those beyond their borders. As a result, they may inadvertently perpetuate existing power imbalances and violences rather than transforming them. Into this landscape, the work of Stone-Mediatore provides a theory of reading for enlarged thought that is helpful to critical GCE. Beyond cultivating empathy, celebrating diversity, or fostering a humanitarian impetus towards others, Stone-Mediatore’s theory of reading provides the greatest space for critical GCE, as it leads to an examination of position and injustice within complex global relations.  At the same time, there is still further to go. Stone-Mediatore’s theory provides a helpful starting point for engagement with marginalized stories; however, it is also important to acknowledge how this approach contains some inherent challenges and dangers. To begin, the   106 very selection of marginalized texts for school units, as well at their framing and analysis within the classroom, will unavoidably be shaped by the Western-based systems, instructors and readers who cannot help but domesticate these stories to some extent within familiar modes of thought. Even when a reader or educator approaches a text with respectful, listening ears, there are parts of the story that will remain unintelligible to the self; therefore, the very act of interpreting the Other is also an act of framing, translating, domesticating and ultimately silencing it. As readers compare the experiences of Mazwi and Zama in Dear Mandela, look for resistance and reconciliation in The Life of Helen Betty Osborne or interpret multilinguism in Song for Night, for instance, they may come to believe they fully understand these texts, rather than remaining open to what they may not yet hear – or considering that they may never fully hear or understand. This is not to say that there is not value in striving to learn from others’ stories; rather, as we read, we may consider how we may become less concerned with “describing and comparing the knowledges of local communities, but about creating generative spaces where alternative relationships between knowing and being can emerge and intervene in our lived realities, potentially creating new possibilities of signification, new relationships, and new strategies of political and existential forms of resistance" (Ahenakew et al. 218). What this may look like in the specific reading practices of critical global citizenship classrooms requires further work and investigation, as literature educators work through the cycle of learning themselves.  Unfortunately, for a number of reasons including habituation within Cartesian modes of thought, lack of comfort with controversial topics, or provision of Western-based resources (included those provided by humanitarian organizations), many global citizenship educators tend to reinforce existing viewpoints through more superficial engagement with mainstream texts instead of promoting critical and self-reflexive engagement with marginalized viewpoints. Through a close analysis of the two Free the Children unit plans on Craig Kielburger’s Free the   107 Children and Robyn Wiszowaty’s My Maasai Life, my second chapter demonstrates how NGO-influenced curriculum materials may reinforce young Canadian readers as those who can “make a difference” to needy, global others. Any similar engagement with mainstream texts, where students participate in predominantly empathetic reading activities, may lead students to pity those in the global South, rather than helping students deconstruct their own beliefs, question the structures and histories that led to the situations of those about whom they are reading, and come to understand their relationships with those removed from them by distance and experience. Further, when curriculum materials are embedded within the vision and structure of a particular NGO, these materials may promote unquestioned support of their parent organizations, as is evidenced through these two units’ promotion of Free the Children’s fundraising programs and awareness campaigns, as well as participation in Me to We voluntourism trips, We Day rallies and other events. While these unit plans may be familiar and accessible, they demonstrate the need for educators to develop their own curriculum materials according to theories of reading that foster critical global citizenship. This is indeed difficult work, even for the most critically-minded educators. As Andreotti has acknowledged: new knowledges and solutions often lead to new problems, requiring further consideration and experimentation (“Education” 2012).  Though it is not prescriptive, my third chapter makes strides towards just such a project, considering how both text selection and reading activities may help create spaces in literature classrooms that direct students to “go beyond dominant viewpoints, explore and critically analyze dominant views on issues, consider multiple perspectives, and imagine alternative outcomes of events” (Eidoo et al. 76). Here is where a return to Stone-Mediatore is particularly helpful, recognizing how the stories of “people who have struggled against oppression or exploitation can offer critical insight into existing beliefs and institutions and can help us to transform those beliefs and institutions toward the end of a more just, democratic world” (Reading 162). While such texts may take a variety of literary forms, such as Chris Abani's   108 novel, Song for Night, David Alexander Robertson and Madison Blackstone’s graphic novel, The Life of Helen Betty Osborne, and the documentary film, Dear Mandela, they must express marginalized perspectives that question dominant assumptions to be helpful within critical global citizenship classrooms. The texts cannot stand alone, however, as a complementary reading process will help students critically and ethically engage with these texts in order to “test and revise their community’s taken-for-granted narrative paradigms and to anticipate communication with differently situated others” (185). While it does not address literature classrooms specifically, Andreotti and de Souza’s project, Through Other Eyes, provides a helpful framework for just such engagement. The cyclical, four-fold process of learning to unlearn, learning to listen, learning to learn and learning to reach out (28-29) can be extended and implemented within literature classrooms to help students “read” themselves and their adherence to dominant assumptions and structures against the dissenting viewpoints presented in classroom texts, as a basis for new ways of relating to those situated beyond our borders.  While such literary engagement may lead students into periods of crisis or discomfort as they face the darker sides of their own histories, complex relationships, and hegemonic beliefs, it may also create in them a sense of hope as they consider alternative ways of being in relation to others living elsewhere. In considering education as a medicine for social diseases, Andreotti asks: What if the medicine [for racism, sexism, classicism, nationalism and other forms of…viral divisions] involves getting to terms with our violent histories, being taught to see through the eyes of others (as impossible as it sounds), and facing humanity (in our own selves first) in all its complexity, affliction and imperfection: agonistically embracing everyone’s capacity for love, hatred, compassion, harm, goodwill envy, joy, anger, oppression, care, selfishness, selflessness, avarice, kindness, enmity, solidarity,   109 malice, benevolence, arrogance, humility, narcissism, altruism, greed, generosity, contempt and reverence?  (Andreotti “Education” 28) While such “medicines” may be found in social studies – as well as the sciences, math, and music – perhaps one of the best medicines is literary study, which provides a unique means by which to experience the complex, nuanced, contextual, layered and contradictory nature of human beliefs, institutions, assumptions and structures. Through careful reading, we may begin to face the complex humanity in ourselves and others, recognize the connections between us, even across great distances, and acknowledge the histories and structures that continue to shape these relationships. Though this learning may be difficult, and may cause us to read ourselves anew as we read the experiences of others, it also provides opportunities for transformation, creativity and change.      110 References  “About.”  The Global Hive. 2015. 27 Feb. 2015.  Adamson, Pat and Lauree Kopetsky. Teacher’s Guide for The Life of Helen Betty  Osborne: A  Graphic Novel. 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