**6. Understanding How Racism Operates in México**

Howard and Ali argue for a focus on historic, political, economic, social, racial, and cultural inequalities that may contribute to the research problem [21]. Critical educational ethnographers ask, "what are the social conditions that create this particular context?" [21] (p. 148). George Dei explains that "an understanding of how racial, class, gender, and sexual identities are implicated in ways of knowing and of knowledge itself is crucial to the anti-racism project for transformative learning and social change" [10] (p. 14). In this case, identifying the critical context in this study included examining the history of the region within the broader history of México, race, gender and class structures, land tenure structure, and the legacy of 'development' in the region. In this section, I share how my field experiences and my encounters with theory changed my understanding of racism as it is experienced by Campesinos/as in the case study context.

In 2005, in the same state where my future research would take place, my Mexican friend told me that someone she was dating wouldn't speak to her anymore because she had traveled with me to visit Campesino/a villages. She explained that people of the upper classes refused to visit poor villages or associate with those who did so. At the time, I understood this to be explained by classism and began my study in 2017 with many experiences living in México where the race was rarely spoken about.

During my second research visit, on the way to a community participating in the case study, the Indigenous staff of FPP asked about how Indigenous peoples were treated in Canada. After I answered with what I knew about the colonial harms that continue to perpetuate inequalities today, FPP staff began to tell me stories of anti-Indigenous racism in México. One was about a woman they knew who had lost a child while waiting for care at a local hospital. The storyteller named this racism, explaining that the woman had been denied care and stayed the night on the floor of the hallway because she was Indigenous and spoke her own language more fluently than Spanish.

In my search to better understand racism in México, I found critical race scholars who explained how race, gender, and class are intertwined in México and how race plays out in dominant social metanarratives [27,50]. Moreno Figueroa explains that in México the existence of racism is often denied because of what she calls a Mestizaje logic, where it is socially accepted that, "in Mexico, there is no racism because we are all 'mixed'" [50] (p. 388). Despite this assertion, there is still an assumed and engrained white superiority, which manifests in discrimination toward those with 'Indigenous features' or darker skin compared to others [50]. Mestizaje logic has its roots in ideologies of the early 19th century in Latin America where newly independent nation-states attempted to build national identity through homogenization. The mixing of races was promoted as a chance for moral and social improvement for the (Indigenous) individual, at the same time as serving the state's interests in the creation of a unified 'Mexican' identity [50]. This explains how racism can be at work in "a context that not only denies it, but where people do not recognize themselves as racialized, [and] there is no public discourse about it ... " [50] (p. 388). As Moreno Figueroa explains,

Those who locate themselves as Mexicans have learned to see and praise Indigenous peoples as an essential and vital part of the national culture and landscape, "giving 'sense' and depth to Mexican history, but they do not seem to have any desire to 'look' like them [50] (p. 393).

This quote shows the contradiction lived by Indigenous peoples in México that reflects societies' willingness to celebrate the richness of culture, but not the bodies of those who enact this culture.

Since México is a settler-colonial state, Indigenous identity is both "legal/political and racialized" [11] (p. 428) which is explained by TribalCrit as a liminal space. The legal/political aspects of Indigenous identity reflect the complex history of colonization, attempts at homogenization of a Mexican identity [and erasure of Indigenous identities], and their current relation to the Mexican state. TribalCrit offers a way to understand the experiences of those living in this liminal space where a simple binary of White/Black does not apply. For Campesinos/as the intersection of class, race, and Indigenous identity comingle to marginalize their social status [51]. For Campesinas, gender also intersects with class, race, and Indigenous identity to create further harm to their persons [51]. What I had

witnessed at work in México was the marginalization of Campesinos/as to a liminal space created by these intersections. This liminal space reflects contradictions in, for example, the societal appreciation for handmade tortillas, but racism toward the very people whose hands grow the corn and make the tortillas—those with darker skin, speaking Indigenous languages. The writing of critical race theorists Moreno Figueroa, Crenshaw, Solórzano and Yosso, and TribalCrit scholar Brayboy, helped me understand and articulate the unique positions of Campesinos/as in my representations of their experiences and perspectives.

#### **7. Narratives of 'Development' as Sites of Struggle**

In my interviews with promoter guides, I asked what motivated them to do this work. Mariana said, "Yeah, well, what are we going to do? Sometimes we do not have money when we do not have a crop to sell ... Here, flat out, we have no resources, we have no salary, or government cheque, we are Campesinos working in the fields." [20] (p. 146). She talked about the loss of crops by many in her community due to the recent drought, and their strategy of raising chickens, pigs, and growing home gardens to feed her children. She also said the women in her group are very motivated to find ways to continue their lifestyle. She explained, " ... If we look for work outside, who is going to take care of our children?" [20] (p. 146). It is important to explain that those I interviewed came here on the promise of government land grants, from other states in México where they had also led a Campesino/a lifestyle, living off the land. Mariana showed me that while continuing this lifestyle may be a choice, within this lifestyle, there are things that are not choices: working hard to grow and raise food. Mariana made clear that she was aware of the choice to leave and look for work, but that she would not have anyone to care for her children if she did. My reflexive notes on the day I interviewed Mariana included these reflections.

Talking to a friend at home today, I found it hard to translate what I am learning here. How do I explain the Campesino/a lifestyle to 'modernized/urbanized' people who might conceptualize it as a sacrifice, as a giving up of things. I told her that maybe it is closest to the idea of 'homesteading' but it isn't the same. There isn't the same cultural family history [in homesteading]. This is really Indigenous people carrying on their traditional lifestyle, despite the struggles they meet. Why do we think about 'development' as empowering women to work outside the home, when this is not what they want? The women I spoke with here don't want to leave their families to work. Here, working in the city, or in town would mean leaving their community and giving up the raising of their children . . . [37].

In the reflexive note above, I identified discourses of 'development' as a site of struggle between 'Western' conceptions of living and those of Campesinos/as. Understanding the history and goals of the project of 'development' was a significant site of learning in my research process. The marginalization of Campesinos/as is bound up in the history of the 'development project' and current power structures that reinforce settler state control to define what 'development' means.

When I researched the history of 'development' in México, I came upon post-development scholars who characterized the 'development project' as imperialist and an active continuation of the colonial project into the post-colonial era [52]. They identified the process of labeling a country as 'underdeveloped' as a process of "naturalising the norms and historical processes of the European Self" [53] (p. 2551). Post-development theorists understood the development project as an unjustified intervention in the lives of those who were deemed as 'less developed'. They trace the origin of 'development' back to a speech by Harry Truman made in 1949 wherein he called for the more developed countries of the world to solve the problems of underdeveloped countries, thus dividing the countries of the world into a hierarchical binary that reproduced the colonial relations of the previous historical period [52,54,55]. For example, in Truman's speech the people of 'underdeveloped' nations were characterized as suffering poverty because of primitive and stagnant economic policies and those from more 'advanced' nations had a moral obligation to help [54]. This helping was done with the assumption that the helper knew the best solution for the 'helpless' [56]. This highlights the reinforcement of the hierarchies of knowledge in the export of Western/Euro-American conceptions of development. If we are to take an anti-racist approach to sustainability, we must continue to challenge still active concepts of underdevelopment as fictions created to perpetuate hierarchies.

Particularly relevant to a Campesino/a population today is the project of development's perpetuation of hierarchies constructed at the time of colonization including, the privileging of 'Western' knowledge over other forms of knowledge, urban over rural, white over other races/ethnicities, men over women and 'Western' forms of pedagogy over other forms [3,4]. For Campesino/a populations in México, the project of development manifested in a campaign to modernize the countryside through Green revolution agriculture technologies and practices which, it was thought, would lead to the disappearance of the peasantry [57]. It was predicted that through modernization Campesinos/as, who were considered inefficient producers, would either become modernized farmers or become the working class as they entered the capitalist system through wage labor [5]. This prediction was false. In Latin America alone, an estimated 65 million Campesinos/as continue to live from subsistence farming and 'petty commodity' production [58].

In my field experiences, I began to recognize narratives of 'underdevelopment' in rural development programs designed by the federal government that perpetuated hierarchies of knowledge and maintained a paternalistic relation with Indigenous communities. For example, several initiatives designed to give Campesinos/as what was considered by the federal government to be a 'dignified life' did not make sense in the context in which Campesinos/as were living. One example among many in Calakmul was the installation of flush toilets in a region with severe and increasing issues with drought, and lack of access to clean drinking water. Campesinos/as I interviewed did not have access to enough water in the dry season for drinking, washing, and watering gardens, let alone for flushing toilets. Standing water in flush toilets was also identified as a potential breeding ground for mosquitos carrying malaria. Another example is the installation of cement block houses with metal roofs under the banner of a 'dignified life', when Campesinos/as in this region prefer their traditional housing with thatched palm roofs and mud/clay walls because they stay cooler in the extreme heat of the region. This top-down rural development approach shows ignorance of the geographies and social realities of the area and a disregard for local knowledge. This example highlights how the Mexican government continues to work in a paternal relationship with Indigenous communities. If the goal of 'development' is a 'dignified life', multiple ideas of what constitutes a dignified life must be considered based on the social, geographical, and cultural context of each area.

Langdon suggests that decolonizing 'development' would need to include decolonizing the minds of many, and "moving from patronising, colonising interventionist approaches to a much more mutual process ... " [59] (p. 387). He points out that moving to action through mutual, collective processes involves changing the "very process of engaging in such action" and destabilizing "power dynamics of whose knowledge counts." [59] (p. 387). In the case of CaC, the way that it operates to build networks of mutual knowledge sharing and support among Campesinos ensures that education aligns with their chosen way of life as Campesinos/as. This contrasts with continuing narratives of 'underdevelopment' that were perpetuated through rural development programs in this context. Learning about narratives of 'development' and their origin shifted my perspective and brought forth questions about who is expected to learn and who is expected to change in our goals for sustainable 'development'.

#### **8. Uncovering Latent Assumptions about Education**

As a scholar of education, I wanted to understand how CaC pedagogy facilitates an atmosphere of cooperation, sharing, and co-creation of knowledge which facilitates the development of protagonism among peasants [13,14]. As a student of Western/Euro-American educational theory, I began by reading 'Western' social learning theories. I recognize this

now as the wrong approach. This learning was sparked by reading Mignolo [60], who helped me to recognize that the social learning theories I was exploring were 'Western' social learning theories that were based on observations of European or American educational settings and should not be universally applied. As Dei, reminded me, cultures differ in their approaches to learning and education [10]. This learning was a process that evolved over time and was influenced by many different experiences. I highlight a few of these here.

After reviewing and finding resonance with several 'Western' learning theories including self-determination theory [61], modeling and role modeling theories, various theories of agency [62–64], and Freire's consciousness-raising education [31], I attended a course in Cuba on CaC methodology in 2017 and was left with a sense that these theories didn't fully represent what was at play in CaC pedagogy. Conversations during field experiences revealed my biases that were shaping how I approached my analysis. This reflexive field note, during my first visit to the area where I began my research reflects a shift in my understanding of CaC.

Today, it was made clear to me that CaC pedagogy is operating all the time on an informal basis. Of course, Campesinas/as are sharing knowledge with each other as they learn from their practice. Today I was told a story of one community member in Calakmul who had taught over 70 other Campesinos/as how to produce honey organically. The Campesino who told me this story, also said "hace falta un facilitator" [what is missing is a facilitator]. He saw a need for a facilitator in organizing this sharing of learning on a larger scale. He explained that there could be so much more done with the help of a facilitator [65].

I acknowledged at this moment that I had inadvertently assumed that CaC was a program of some kind with a beginning and an end with someone (possibly external) who was in charge. I had been thinking of it in the same way as one might think of school from a 'Western' perspective. Through conversations, on this day, I realized CaC, as a term, may be an attempt to formalize or define pre-existing cultural ways of sharing knowledge. After this conversation with a veteran Campesino promoter of agroecology, I saw the role of the facilitator as one of encouraging further elaboration and organization of preexisting cultural practices. What I had missed, was the recognition that the educational practices of CaC were already in these communities.

Looking back, it was alarming for me to realize that this blind spot still existed despite my training in Cuba on the CaC methodology where facilitators explained that agroecology knowledge and practices do not need to come from outside but can be generated collectively within the community. This demonstrates how engrained colonial thinking can be. I was using Western/Euro-American theories to evaluate other cultures [10]. Recent scholars have pointed out that despite efforts to decolonize methodologies, most research in social science is structured by the limits of 'Western' ontologies [66], through a lens that makes results "perceptible or legible to scholars who are thinking about the world exclusively through Western ways of knowing [19] (p. 20). With this understanding came the realization that I needed to look for learning theories that did not originate in the 'Western' tradition to understand CaC. Unfortunately, although the reflexive note shared above was taken early in my field experiences, its importance did not fully translate into practice until after I had completed my dissertation. It was not until more recently that I turned to theories around Indigenous ways of teaching and learning to better understand how CaC reflects cultural ways of sharing knowledge.

Although Campesinos/as I interviewed were from two different Indigenous cultures (Cho'ol and Tzeltal) and some did not identify as Indigenous, they were all living a Campesino/a lifestyle of subsistence farming in Indigenous communities. Although ways of teaching and learning are different in different Indigenous cultures, several scholars of Indigenous education have put forth elements of Indigenous Education that they believe are common to Indigenous populations of the Americas. I share one example here that has particularly strong resonance with CaC pedagogy.

Tewa philosopher Greg Cajate in his book Look to the Mountain: An Ecology of Indigenous Education [17] describes various elements of Indigenous education that align with CaC. To illustrate synergies, I have chosen a few elements to highlight. Cajate describes Indigenous education as, "learning about life through participation and relationship in community, including not only people, but plants, animals and the whole of Nature ... a communally integrated expression of environmental education" [17] (p. 26). The communally integrated quality of Indigenous education aligns with CaC's participatory approach where Campesinos/as learn together and problem-solves through action and reflection on issues in their communities. Important to the discussion of decolonizing education for sustainable development is Cajate's statement that "each person and each culture contains the seeds that are essential to their well-being and positive development" [17] (p. 29). The way CaC situates knowledge and expertise in the community rather than with outside experts shows an enactment of Cajate's statement. If each Campesino/a is the protagonist in their own learning story, then the facilitators' role is fundamentally different from an "extension officer" or a teacher, bringing knowledge to others. Facilitators in CaC facilitate, or make easier, the process of knowledge sharing between peers. This results in learning and implementation of agroecology practices that are unique to each person in relation to their own land and experiences, and their own sustainability. This is fundamentally different from a view of education, or agricultural extension, where the solutions are created by an 'expert' outside the community, who is coming to teach Campesinos/as about what sustainability should look like.

In teaching agroecology, CaC aligns with Cajate's conception of Indigenous education by promoting farming in relation to nature and teaching "a way of life that sustains both the individual and the community" [17] (p. 30). Importantly, agroecology is said to be, based on Indigenous farming practices. In a review of literature on agroecology in México, authors describe the emergence of agroecology as a science in the 1980s and 1990s, as the result of Mexican agronomic scientists being inspired by traditional Indigenous peasant farming systems observed during intense fieldwork in the 1970s [67]. Taking this history into account, CaC can be seen as working to rescue, revitalize and share practices and knowledge traditional to this region that may have been eroded through processes of colonization and the project of modernizing agriculture.
