El Otro Lado: Díaz and Saldívar Navigate Transamericanity

Writing from my perspective as a Chicana art historian, ethnic studies scholar, and activist, this commentary contemplates how art can create and foster decolonial love.I draw examples from the rich history of Chicana/o art.As embodied political subjects, Chicanx artists have been engaged in envisioning decolonial love from the beginning of the Chicano movement in the 1960s-creating art that brings historical wrongs to light, fighting back against injustice, repairing us and our community, and visualizing more just futures. 1 Allow me to suggest how these ideas manifest in what has been considered the first Chicano movement mural, created by artist Antonio Bernal in 1968 for El Teatro Campesino in Del Rey, California (figs. 1 and 2).2 Painted on two wooden panels, the mural asserts the importance of the Indigenous past, proposes men and women as equal partners in revolution, and highlights Black/Brown alliances.The two compositions, each with eight aligned figures, mirror each other.In the left panel we see Indigenous people in procession, inspired by the eighth-century Maya murals at Bonampak and other Mexica (Aztec) sources.The amalgamation of costume and attributes gives visual form to pan-indigeneity.In the right hand panel Bernal presents a group of twentieth-century revolutionaries, acting together in alliance: an Adelita (a woman who fought during the Mexican Revolution), Pancho Villa (leader of the Mexican Revolution in the north of Mexico), Emiliano Zapata (Indigenous leader of the Revolution in southern Mexico), Joaquı ´n Murrieta (a legendary Robin Hood figure of the western US who stole from rich white settlers to give to Mexicans during the California Gold Rush), Ce ´sar E. Cha ´vez (activist and founder, along with Dolores Huerta, of the United Farmworkers), Reyes Lo ´pez Tijerina (leader of the New

Tango Dancing with María Lugones

The article is devoted to the analysis of modern theories of postcolonial perspective and methodologies applied for their research. The aim of the research is to analyze modern theories and methodologies in studying cultural and social postcolonial phenomena. Also, this research aims to outline methodologies used to investigate postcolonial theories; to introduce practical applications of postcolonial studies across cultural and social dimensions. The research is predominantly interdisciplinary and implies the use of a range of theoretical research methods (theoretical analysis of literature and scientific texts, historical research, discourse analysis, comparative analysis as well as synthesis and interpretation). The article provided the recent interpretation of the concepts of colonialism and postcolonialism. It was found that the mid-20th century marked a shift in focus from colonial to postcolonial studies. The theoretical framework of postcolonial studies is analyzed from diachronic and synchronic tiers. The specifics of six main theories were revealed (postcolonial theory, critical theory, site-specific theory, decolonial theory, and creolization theory). They offer both strengths and weaknesses when analyzing the impacts of colonialism. The methodology of postcolonial studies is usually interdisciplinary and prefers examining the impacts of colonialism based on literary sources and cultural analysis. Other methodologies include: historical research, textual analysis, ethnographic methods, interviews, observations, and comparative analysis. The implications include improving the understanding of the existing socio-political and economic structure and developing effective strategies to overcome the contemporary issues that emerged as a result of colonialism and postcolonialism.

Settler colonialism dehumanizes and alienates Palestinians in everyday life, including in our Whitestream mental health research, practice, teaching, and supervision practices. In this article, we focus on sharing insights into our supervision praxis in Palestine. We, the coauthors of this article, are four Palestinian psychologists and therapists, living and working in the Diaspora (Devin and Hana), in the Palestinian territories occupied by the state of Israel (Nihaya), and in the nation-state of Israel itself (Caesar). In this article, through conversation, we seek to articulate decolonial practices and epistemologies within our implementation process of a training workbook for community health workers in a refugee camp in the West Bank, Palestine. Our training process was based on a workbook entitled CURCUM's Trees: A Decolonial Healing Guide for Palestinian Community Health Workers (available for free download in English at https://mayflybooks.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/10/CURCUMs-Trees_A-Decolonial-Healing-Guide_ENGLISH-VERSION.pdf and in Arabic at https://mayflybooks.org/wp-content/uploads/2023/10/CURCUMs-Trees-Arabic-Version.pdf). We, as the four coauthors of this article, decided to write this article in storytelling prose. We invite readers to bear witness to our intimate conversation, which was audio recorded one evening in Palestine, in June 2023. We share excerpts from this transcribed conversation, where we strive to describe our decolonial praxis in the face of indescribable colonial violence. We shed light on the pathways and complexities of creating transformative training processes for community workers in conditions marked by settler colonialism. We wrestle with our own positionalities, epistemologies, and relationships through enactments of decolonial love. In doing so, conceptualize our supervision praxis as holding and seeing each other deeply and decolonially toward reenvisioning possibilities for liberation unbound by settler colonialism. (PsycInfo Database Record (c) 2025 APA, all rights reserved).

Métis Survivance:Land, Love, and Futures in Cherie Dimaline's Dystopian Novels Celiese Lypka "Who knows what it's like to leave, to give up a piece of land? If you do, it might haunt you forever, follow you till you come back." Marilyn Dumont1 Although widely different in their composition of Indigenous futurisms, Métis author Cherie Dimaline's The Marrow Thieves (set in the dystopian future, [2017]) and Empire of Wild (set in the present as a dystopian landscape, [2019]) reveal the impossibility of a shareable future between Indigenous and non-Indigenous peoples under settler colonialism. In both novels, Indigenous bodies and land are co-opted by settler communities to be mined for capital gain. The Marrow Thieves presents a horrific future in which Indigenous bodies are harvested for their ability to dream, something that non-Indigenous peoples have lost the ability to do. The narrative focuses on a young man named Frenchie, who is trying to make sense of the colonial past and present, while looking toward an Indigenous-centric future. In Empire of Wild, Joan searches for her husband who loses control over his mind and body after suggesting they sell her family land to developers for mining and pipeline projects. The protagonists of both texts are Métis,2 and the novels can be read as quests to find a sustainable community for the characters who, through processes of colonization, have forgotten Métis practices and ways of being—knowledge that is integral to healing and reconnecting with the land to build a better future in a postcapitalist world. Both Frenchie and Joan3 begin their respective narratives lost and alone, in search of a specific place or person rooted in "decolonial love," what Leanne Betasamosake [End Page 27] Simpson outlines as "a rebellion of love, persistence, commitment, and profound caring" that is a "generative refusal of colonial recognition."4 Kyle Whyte articulates how, through the sustained militaristic campaigns of settler colonialism across the globe (which includes damaging ecosystems for colonial gain, violent assimilation, and containment processes, as well as forced dependency and instilling conditions of mass fear), Indigenous peoples "already inhabit what our ancestors would have understood as a dystopian future."5 This essay analyzes the representation of Métis communities within the dystopian settings of both novels, identifying the fractures of Métis identity as a result of land dispossession. Dimaline's dystopias detail various ways in which Indigenous people and the land they live on have been devastated by the violence of settler colonialism, leaving them in a nightmarish landscape where they are insidiously disconnected from land and Indigenous ways of being. I argue that through the processes of learning and putting into practice Indigenous storytelling rooted in landedness—what acclaimed Métis scholar Emma LaRocque defines as "Metis love of land"6—the protagonists come to embody decolonial love that cultivates Indigenous futures by upending colonial constructions of identity and community through relational resilience. Landedness, in its relationship with "a particular and unique land area … where we carry out body and home-stitching everydayness" is a "place where we become familiar" to ourselves, a place where we live and grow in decolonial love that nurtures Métis identity outside of colonial structures. This idea is particularly important in Dimaline's novels, as landedness is continuously threatened by the dystopian structures that abolish Indigenous land and ways of being. Reading the colonial history of North America reveals the specific and insidious instances in which Indigenous peoples have been systematically eradicated to legitimize settler state claims to land, practices, and power. However, as Danika Medak-Saltzman identifies, "Yet, and despite the best efforts of settler colonial societies to deny Native peoples the possibility of meaningful futures, narratives about the future have always been, and remain, deeply entrenched in, and important to, Native communities."7 And it's important to note, more specifically, how Indigenous storytelling embodies the interplay between the past, present, and future, acting as a method of narrative resistance in the face of the ongoing violent and linear colonization processes. At the same time, it also offers persistence in Indigenous peoples' connection and relationship to the land by providing...

From the era of European empire to the global trades escalated after the World Wars, technological advancement, one of the key underlying conditions of globalization, has been closely linked with the production and reproduction of the colonizer/colonized. The rhetoric of modernity characterized by “salvation,” “rationality,” “development,” and nature-society or nature-culture divides underlies dominant perspectives on Science, Technology, Engineering, and Mathematics (STEM) education that have historically positioned economic development and national security as its core values. Such rhetoric inevitably and implicitly generates the logic of oppression and exploitation. Against the backdrop of nationalist and militaristic discourse representing modernity or coloniality, counter-voices have also arisen to envision a future of STEM education that is more humane and socioecologically just. Such bodies of critiques have interrogated interlocking colonial domains that shape the realm of STEM education: (a) settler colonialism, (b) paternalism, genderism, and coloniality, and (c) militarism and aggression and violence against the geopolitical Other. Our ways of knowing and being with STEM disciplines have been inexorably changed in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, which powerfully showed us how we live in the global chain of contagion. What kinds of portrayal can we depict if we dismantle colonial imaginaries of STEM education and instead center decolonial love—love that resists the nature-culture or nature-society divide, love to know our responsibilities and enact them in ways that give back, love that does not neglect historical oppression and violence yet carries us through? STEM education that posits decolonial love at its core will be inevitably and critically transdisciplinary, expanding the epistemological and ontological boundaries to embrace those who had been colonized and disciplined through racialized, gendered, and classist disciplinary practices of STEM.

project of modernity reordered and rearranged the world by imposing categories of difference. These currently materialize in inconspicuous bordering systems designed to enforce the separation between the Global North and Global South; the west and rest; the have and have-nots: dualities continuously (re)produced today in the spatial arrangement of the world and in the domain of everyday life. This research focuses on the material possibilities afforded by design to scatter sovereign power— that was once exclusive to nation-state borders— and embed it in the sociotechnical systems that mediate everyday life. This dissertation presents a design-informed framework that situates design in contemporary practices of bordering— understood as processes of exclusion experienced by migrants that are (re)produced at the level of everyday life by state and non-state actors. I propose that by paying attention to everyday life we can uncover how design has been complicit in creating and perpetuating the undocumented migrant condition and how design has been used in the production of “illegality”. In this sense, this research does not seek to uncover the power of design, but instead turns its attention to the ontological relation between power and design, the ways power dynamics materialize by design and how design (re)enforces power dynamics, put simply, it is an exploration of how power is designed.Using the experience of undocumented Nicaraguan women in Costa Rica, I argue that undocumentedness is a designed technology of population management that materializes and legitimizes “illegality” while reproducing the colonial logic of difference between Costa Rica(ns) and Nicaragua(ns). This logic of difference, instrumental to the project of nation-building, is currently (re)produced by popular and political discourses that materialize in technologies of migrant management. Based on the experience of Nicaraguan women living in Río Azul — a marginal, urban neighborhood in the outskirts of San José —, and informed by critical border studies, decolonial theory, feminist theory, political theory, and critical geography, this dissertation locates everyday life as the site of border-struggles for undocumented Nicaraguan women.This dissertation also considers counter-practices that materialize in the form of designs that emerge and operate from other logics, logics that are initially driven by state exclusion such as contestation and (in)visibility, but ultimately logics that build the communal and forms of autonomy. These forms of contestation use design as material politics, in this sense, design is used to reconfigure the material possibilities afforded by their undocumented condition and to redistribute these material possibilities as forms of emancipation.

In this article, I weave together connections between notions of decoloniality and love while considering implications for decolonial praxis by racialized people settled on Indigenous lands. Through a community-based research project exploring land and body sovereignty in settler contexts, I engaged with Indigenous and racialized girls, young women, 2-Spirit, and queer-identified young adults to create artwork and land-based expressions of resistance, resurgence, and wellbeing focusing on decolonial love. Building on literature from Indigenous, decolonizing, feminist, and post-colonial studies, I unpack the ways in which decolonial love is constructed and engaged in by young Indigenous and racialized people as they navigate experiences of racism, sexism, cultural assimilation, and other intersecting forms of marginalization inherent in colonial rule. I uphold these diverse perspectives as integral components in developing more nuanced and situated understandings of the power of decolonial love in the everyday lives of Indigenous and racialized young peoples and communities.

Reviewed by: Kuxlejal Politics: Indigenous Autonomy, Race, and Decolonizing Research in Zapatista Communities by Mariana Mora Lindsay Naylor Mariana Mora Kuxlejal Politics: Indigenous Autonomy, Race, and Decolonizing Research in Zapatista Communities. Austin, University of Texas Press, 2017. ix + 288 pp. Photographs, maps, charts, tables, notes, bibliography, index. $27.95 paper (ISBN: 978-1-4773-1447-0). Using an approach that combines participatory, feminist, and decolonial theories, Mariana Mora analyzes the politics of Zapatista autonomy in this innovative book. While the Zapatistas are often romanticized or drawn on to compare vastly different forms of resistance in academic writing, Kuxlejal Politics instead offers a grounded portrait of their everyday lives. Drawing on more than a decade of solidarity work and research in a Zapatista municipality, Mora demonstrates the possibilities of community-engaged research. The text deftly approaches the lineage of the movement, past and present racialization of indigenous peoples, and the vicissitudes of resisting the neoliberal political-economic project of the state of Mexico. While the book is focused on analyzing three pervasive racialized tropes and demonstrating that they contribute to past and present exploitation of indigenous peoples in Chiapas, I especially want to emphasize how Mora is simultaneously provoking scholars in a profound way to deeply reconsider their research practices. There is a bevy of academic work on the Zapatista movement, and Mora acknowledges that Chiapas receives more anthropological inquiry than any other state in Mexico. One goal of the book is to unravel this anthropological genealogy, by directly addressing the colonial-imperial and racist legacies of anthropological research. Kuxlejal Politics is not just "another book about Chiapas" to be shelved alongside accounts of resistance in Latin America and rebellion in Mexico more broadly; rather, it represents a feminist decolonial approach to research with indigenous peoples that breaks with long-standing practice by making the research itself a key component of the analytical work being done. In eight chapters, Kuxlejal Politics makes evident that knowledge production is a concrete and collective act. Chapter Two forms the backbone of this text, where Mora provides an in-depth discussion of the research approach. Using a feminist decolonial framework, Mora argues for situating academic research as a dialogue and suggests that her own fieldwork became subject to the processes of autonomy and political debates that were being studied. In three succinct subsections Mora unpacks "democratizing knowledge production" (pp. 50–55), the "power between the written and the oral" (pp. 55–62), and "the interview as testimony on the knowing-doing of history" (pp. 62–68), and demonstrates the power of a project that has active participation. Mora describes the processes and practices of dialogic research in a way that challenges basic concepts of researcher reflexivity and transforms the way that we as scholars might consider the tensions and power relations at work in the development and deployment of research. [End Page 235] The book takes its title from the indigenous Mayan Tseltal word for "life" or "life-existence" (kuxlejal) (p.19). In using this framing of "life politics" as a starting point, Mora weaves a narrative that is infused with stories of struggle and radical possibility. The analytical foundations of the book are three racialized tropes that Mora presents in the introduction; the enunciation of these tropes in the following chapters illuminates the processes and practices of exploitation of indigenous peoples in and before the neoliberal period. The first trope identified is "infantilization," which casts indigenous people as subjects in need of constant care by outsiders (p.16). The second is the trope of the "mozo," the servant identity that normalizes power hierarchies, which place indigenous people in the service of the non-indigenous (p.16). And finally, Mora offers a third trope, in which an early golden age of the ancient Maya is contrasted with their so-called "degenerate and biologically deficient" counterparts in the present (p.16). Together these ideas operationalize what Mora discusses as "racialized disciplinary mechanisms" that function in historical and contemporary Chiapas, and which shape the struggle of the Zapatistas (p. 17). To ground the reader, Mora opens up the book with a historical backdrop regarding Zapatista organizing and focuses on the site of fieldwork, the community of...

Physics education in Nigeria is often critiqued for being overly theoretical and disconnected from students' cultural contexts and everyday lives. While students struggle to relate physics concepts to their lived experiences, teachers themselves are frequently blamed for lacking innovative or student-centered approaches. However, this perspective often overlooks the colonial legacies and systemic barriers that shape how teachers were trained and the resources available to them. This study uses interviews with two in-service physics teachers in Nigeria to examine how they navigate these constraints and strive to reframe physics teaching in ways that resonate with their students. Drawing on framing theory, culturally relevant pedagogy (CRP), and the concept of coloniality, the findings reveal that while the curriculum and professional development continue to privilege Western epistemologies and canonical physics knowledge, teachers are finding creative and culturally rooted ways to make physics more relevant and meaningful. Teachers like Obi and Esther leverage students' local knowledge, whether it be farming practices, musical traditions, or community challenges to build bridges between textbook content and real-world applications. Yet, this culturally relevant work remains largely informal and teacher-driven, occurring in the margins of a system still structured by colonial assumptions about what counts as valid scientific knowledge. This study argues for a reimagining of physics education in Nigeria that moves beyond deficit views of teachers, instead foregrounding the agency and resourcefulness of teachers as they negotiate and reframe physics in their classrooms.

In this concluding article of our two-part special issue entitled, Perspectives on Colonial Violence "From Below": Decolonial Resistance, Healing, and Justice, we share reflections on the multiplicity of colonial violences that authors speak to in the articles we accepted for publication. We invite readers to contend with the transnational imbrications of dehumanization and alienation as well as decolonial struggles that have emerged in a myriad of praxes against these colonial violences: from the borderlands of the Indian state (material and imagined) to the terrains of indescribable violences of settler colonial onslaught in Palestine; from Kurdish struggles for self-determination to racialized colonial violence in the Americas and beyond. We link decolonial praxis with critical enactments of healing and resistance in the face of alienation and dehumanization across the articles accepted. When doing so, we center refusal, collectivity, decolonial love, and unknowingness-the experience of decolonization and decoloniality as always evading comprehension. With all the institutional appeal and proliferation of writings, conferences, and initiatives using the term "decolonial" in psychology and related fields, we give space to that which is nameless: all that is present yet unspoken; unwritten and always changing and emergent-in the persistence, in the strategies, and in the sacrifice of decolonial frontliners. This article examines transnational imbrications of dehumanization and alienation as well as decolonial struggles that have emerged in a myriad of praxes against colonial violence. We highlight different exemplars of decolonial healing and refusal with critical implications for Black, Indigenous, People of Color and Global South peoples facing multiple dimensions of the colonial wound.

Religious Education (RE) in Zambia’s national curriculum has been historically shaped by missionary and colonial paradigms, resulting in the privileging of Eurocentric epistemologies and the marginalization of indigenous spiritual traditions (Phiri, 2020). Despite post-independence reforms aiming to diversify curricular content, dominant frameworks continue to emphasize Christian doctrinal instruction, thus limiting critical reflexivity and epistemic justice (Banda, 2018; Simuchimba, 2005). This article proposes a decolonial philosophical framework to reconceptualize RE in Zambian schools by centering indigenous cosmologies and embracing pluriversality. Employing qualitative curriculum document analysis of national syllabi and textbooks, alongside semi-structured interviews with educators, curriculum developers, and community elders in Lusaka, Copperbelt, and Eastern Provinces, we investigate colonial traces in syllabus objectives, teaching materials, and pedagogical practices. Findings reveal persistent discursive silences around local spiritualities and an absence of dialogical pedagogies that honor learners’ lived experiences (Ministry of Education [MoE], 2021). Grounded in decolonial theory - particularly Quijano’s (2000) concept of coloniality of power and Mignolo’s (2011) epistemic disobedience - the study articulates three core principles for a decolonial RE curriculum: epistemic pluriversality, relational knowing, and dialogical pedagogy. These principles inform recommended curriculum revisions, including place-based learning modules, incorporation of indigenous narratives, and targeted teacher professional development in decolonial methodologies. By bridging philosophical decolonial insights with actionable curriculum design, this framework advances RE scholarship in Sub-Saharan Africa and offers policy guidelines such as participatory syllabus review processes involving indigenous stakeholders. Reimagining RE through this philosophical lens contributes to broader debates on curriculum decolonization in the Global South. Ultimately, the proposed decolonial philosophy of RE aims to foster inclusive, culturally responsive learning environments that advance epistemic justice and cultural sustainability in Zambian schools.

Reviewed by: Shaping Modern Shanghai: Colonialism in China's Global City by Isabella Jackson Cécile Armand Isabella Jackson. Shaping Modern Shanghai: Colonialism in China's Global City. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2018. 274 pp. $99.99 (cloth). Shaping Modern Shanghai: Colonialism in China's Global City offers a detailed study of the major colonial institution in one of the most important cities in Republican China: the Shanghai Municipal Council (SMC), which governed the International Settlement in Shanghai from the mid-1840s until the relinquishment of the settlement in May 1943. As a treaty port open to foreign residents and companies, Shanghai became not only a major industrial and financial hub in China but also a center for political and cultural life, playing a significant role in the birth of Chinese nationalism. At a time of economic development and political and social unrest (the May Thirtieth movement of 1925, recurrent strikes and boycotts, the Second Sino-Japanese War from 1937 to 1945), the SMC's primary mission was to maintain a stable environment that was conducive to business. As the population of the International Settlement grew from 100,000 in 1880 to 1,000,000 in 1930, the SMC expanded its areas of intervention and increasingly shaped everyday life in the International Settlement. Jackson's main argument is that the SMC exemplified the specifically transnational nature of colonialism in China. It was transnational in the sense that it involved nonstate actors who cooperated on the ground beyond national interests. The SMC was a transnational institution both politically and socially. Politically, it remained distant from imperial oversight. In contrast to the French Municipal Council that ruled the French Concession, the SMC was not subject to consular authority. The SMC, financially self-sufficient and able to maintain its own defense force, was proud of its political autonomy. In sum, the SMC acted much like the government of an independent city-state through its policy of territorial expansion and its governmental powers of taxing and policing the International Settlement. Socially, the SMC was a transnational body of people, including 25 different nationalities. Transnationalism, however, did not mean equality, as the SMC maintained a strict racial hierarchy between foreigners and Chinese, and even among foreigners (Russians, Sikhs). Transnational colonialism, Jackson argues, does not bear the positive assumption of cosmopolitanism. Although Chinese representation on the SMC increased after 1927, the British continued to dominate. Observing the peculiar neglect of the SMC in the history of colonialism in China, Jackson helps to fill this historiographical void by drawing on "the vast holdings of the Shanghai municipal archives" (and secondarily, those of the Foreign Office in Britain) and putting forward "the concept of transnational colonialism to explain the nature of colonialism in China" (2). This concept, Jackson argues, is not only more appropriate to the Shanghai case but is further applicable to other colonial contexts. Contributing to the [End Page E-25] recent scholarship on transnationalism, her argument has broad implications for the history of colonialism and nationalism in China and beyond. She offers a convincing alternative to such controversial concepts as hypo-, hyper-, semi-, and quasi-colonialism and the even more vague notion of "colonial modernity," all of which fail to capture the full complexity of colonialism in China. In contrast, she provides a more nuanced and embodied view of colonialism in Shanghai. As a social historian, her work is strongly grounded in primary materials and historical facts. She demonstrates a genuine concern for human actors, unveiling their daily work and the SMC's concrete impact on the residents' everyday lives. The book interweaves three key themes that serve as recurrent motifs throughout the book: similarities to and differences from British formal colonies, transnational influences and limits of transnationalism due to racial tensions, the challenges facing the SMC in the form of financial (tight budget), geographical (settlement boundaries), and legal (land regulations, bylaws) limitations. The book consists of five chapters—each one dealing with a particular area of municipal intervention—arranged according to their relative importance: finances, councilors and staff, police and conflict, public health and hygiene, and industrial, welfare, and social reforms. While the argument does not follow a chronological order, Jackson does...

Glissant and the Middle Passage: Philosophy, Beginning, Abyss

Critical Racial and Decolonial Literacies: Breaking the Silence is a collaborative effort driven by scholars and educators from within and beyond the academy committed to addressing race, racism and anti-racism in Australian institutions. Editors Debbie Bargallie and Nilmini Fernando conceptualize racial literacy as a decolonial anti-racist praxis that examines the intricate dynamics between race and power, both historically and in the present. The book builds a collective platform for oppositional voices in the face of white supremacist ideologies and challenges to critical race studies and pedagogies and emphasizes the need for praxis-oriented approaches that bridge theory and transformative action. In Australia, race studies have long been neglected or marginalized and critical Indigenous knowledges overshadowed and silenced. This collection challenges this status quo and addresses the urgent need for critical racial and decolonial literacies in a society where racism is embedded in everyday life. Divided into five sections, contributors draw from various critical racial and decolonial theories and pedagogies to confront historic and contemporary denial and misrepresentation of race and centre critical Indigenous perspectives to establish a foundation for critical racial and decolonial literacies across multiple disciplines and public initiatives. Together, they challenge the superficial approaches of diversity and inclusion initiatives in academia and emphasize the need for deeper structural change grounded in critical praxis. By combining critical race and critical Indigenous perspectives, Critical Racial and Decolonial Literacies serves as a vital resource for confronting the enduring legacies of colonialism, imperialism and structural oppression.