Disrupting Three Prominent Racialized Trauma Tropes

Abstract

School-based actors can uphold racialized systems and White supremacy through the racialized youth trauma narratives they reproduce. With respect to the growing movement to better support trauma-exposed youth inside school contexts, it is imperative that school-based actors avoid perpetuating deficit views of youth of color, who are disproportionately overexposed to traumatic experiences. Drawing on the youth trauma literature and personal experiences with educators, this essay outlines three common trauma tropes: (a) the hearing gunshots trope, (b) the socioeconomic myth trope, and (c) the what happened to them trope. These narratives are viewed as tropes because they function as rhetorical tools that ignite White-racialized ideological responses and perpetuate the racial status quo. In closing, the author shares four recommendations to better support trauma-exposed youth and provides empirical pathways for researchers to further study the race-trauma nexus.

Keywords

health poverty qualitative research race teacher education/development violence

The growing movement to address the challenges that trauma-exposed youth experience inside and outside of school settings has generated a host of potentially useful resources (Thomas et al., 2019). Although these contributions enhance our understanding, much more is needed to address the vast racial disparities in youth trauma (Slopen et al., 2016). Recent investigations into the race-trauma nexus suggest that we learn to acknowledge the racialized systems, structures, and beliefs that have shaped the concept and treatment of trauma (Annamma & Morrison, 2018), the conditions in which youth experience trauma (McKinney de Royston et al., 2021), and the ways in which White-dominant institutions generate policies, practices, and narratives about trauma and trauma-exposed youth (Alvarez, 2020).

As the field continues to gain the necessary momentum to meet the needs of trauma-exposed youth in schools, it is important to understand how schools and educators, in their attempts to do good, can sometimes further harm the most marginalized students (Petrone & Stanton, 2021). At the core, the discourses and attempts to define and address trauma, according to Petrone and Stanton (2021), are influenced by a biomedical perspective. Although one might find germinal works in trauma studies essential to this growing movement (Herman, 1997; Perry & Szalavitz, 2017), there may be advantages to incorporating alternative definitions and understandings of trauma. Therefore, rather than relying on a medical model that seeks to categorize, pathologize, and normalize people according to their symptoms or behavior,¹ trauma, in this article, is defined as an all-encompassing experience resulting in soul loss—a wound that disrupts our equilibrium and causes us to reevaluate our sense of self, our views on reality, and our environment (Anzaldúa, 2015).

Drawing on Anzaldúa’s (2015) framing of trauma, it is also critical to note that trauma is seen as a consequence of White, settler, colonial logics,² which drive institutional violence, such as racism or patriarchy. For example, with preexisting racial inequities in access to health care, exposure to social determinants of health, and employment in jobs that do not offer work-from-home opportunities, the ongoing COVID pandemic has disproportionately impacted communities of color (Fortuna et al., 2020). In the effort to better support trauma-exposed youth, especially youth of color³ who are overexposed, Petrone and Stanton (2021) suggested naming the ways in which schools and educators can unintentionally create and compound trauma for young people.

For the purposes of this article, I focus on naming deficit racial narratives as a potential driver for trauma because of the direct or indirect impact they may have on the psychological, emotional, and/or physiological responses of youth of color (Hargons et al., 2021). Recently, I shared some youth trauma literature with a group of mostly White educators during a recent professional development session, and I observed how many of them, perhaps unintentionally, may contribute to students’ racial trauma through the narratives they reproduce among themselves in schools. In what follows, I begin by outlining a framework to contextualize three racialized narratives: (a) the hearing gunshots trope, (b) the socioeconomic status (SES) myth trope, and (c) the what happened to them trope. I characterize these narratives as tropes because I view them as rhetorical tools that ignite White-racialized emotions and ideological responses (Donnor, 2016). As I discuss these tropes, I also identify potential underlying racialized emotions and explain how these tropes can perpetuate the racial status quo. Finally, I close with four recommendations for disrupting White-dominant views and discourses on youth trauma in and beyond educational contexts.

A Framework for Understanding Racialized Trauma Tropes

In a racialized society, racial group members occupy either a dominant or marginalized position and, therefore, develop different interests, social relations, and racially motivated behaviors of opposition (Bonilla-Silva, 1997). Moreover, social relations and behaviors of opposition are racially motivated insofar as they function as mechanisms for either maintaining or disrupting the racial status quo, which defines race relations and the social norms for understanding and discussing racial matters (Milner, 2020). To avoid or minimize potential conflicts, White racial actors sometimes rationalize the subordination of Black people, for instance, through talk and false narratives built on socially constructed emotions of anger, fear, disdain, indifference, and apathy (Bonilla-Silva, 2019). Ultimately, racial actors’ opposing behaviors and interests are often linked to their racialized emotions.

Racialized emotions are the body’s responses to race-related external stimuli (Green, 2013), and they drive how people understand and discuss racial matters. Such discursive-emotional connections can be ignited using tropes that not only appeal to White biases but also signal ideological responses to social issues (Bennett & Walker, 2018). For instance, Trump gained support for his candidacy by appealing to White voters’ constructed fear of Mexican “criminals.” The point here is that racialized emotions often justify deficit-based stories people tell.

In this context, I offer the following two propositions. First, White-dominant discourse, narratives, and tropes about trauma are based on White racialized knowledge and emotions. This means that White-dominant emotional expressions and discursive practices are normalized and viewed as rational (Matias, 2016). Second, a racialized social system defines not only the conditions in which people live and experience trauma but also the racialized tropes that dominant racial actors create and reproduce.

The Hearing Gunshots Trope

When the topic of trauma arises, some educators may not refer specifically to Black or Latinx children. Instead, they may refer to geographic areas where they believe children are constantly “hearing gunshots.” In my experience working with educators, the areas they often describe tend to be racially segregated, high-poverty communities in the city. This common trope rationalizes White-dominant fear and demonizes Black and Latinx youth who live in urban communities (Noguera, 2003). Sure, some youth of color in these areas may experience trauma due to violence. The reality, however, is that most of these youth do not engage in violence (Anyon, 2014). In both urban and rural communities, youth of color are more likely to experience trauma from economic hardship than from violence (Sacks & Murphy, 2018). White educators from suburban or rural areas may rely on secondhand narratives to fuel their fear, racialized ways of knowing, and discourses. Some educators’ perceptions of Black violence may be influenced by various media narratives (DeLeon, 2012).

Educators may fetishize violence narratives about youth of color—particularly youth in urban areas—and overgeneralize without understanding that severity, frequency, and proximity to violence matters (Pynoos et al., 1987). Thus, “hearing a gunshot” has no empirical basis without accounting for many other factors. Certainly White youth who live in rural settings hear gunshots. In fact, there are statistically high incidents of self-inflicted firearm injuries and suicide rates among White youth living in rural areas, which are almost always tied to economic stress, too few resources, and geographic isolation (Herrin et al., 2018). Indeed, economic stress, for many youth in high-poverty areas across geographical contexts, lays the groundwork for violence and trauma (Rawles, 2010).

The SES Myth Trope

Many educators I have worked with say trauma is an SES issue that does not discriminate by race. They argue that poverty, regardless of race, has an impact on all students’ mental, emotional, and behavioral health. Educators who perpetuate this SES myth may believe that youth in high income-earning families have fewer traumatic experiences than their peers who live at or below the poverty line. Theoretically, the SES myth contends that more economic resources reduce trauma exposure regardless of race.

Slopen et al. (2016) found that youth in the highest income-earning families were about 3 times less likely to experience multiple traumas when compared to youth in the lowest income-earning families. However, when considering how economic capital works across racial lines, Black and Latinx children experienced statistically smaller income effects on trauma-exposure reduction than White children. Whereas White children in the highest income quartile were almost 5 times less likely to experience multiple traumas, the effects for Black and Latinx children in the same high-SES quartile were substantially weaker in comparison. Despite this common SES myth that educators reproduce, trauma exposure does appear to be a structurally racist phenomenon.

Educators who perpetuate this SES myth may demonstrate a sense of denial of racism—this could be a practice of self-exculpation (Bonilla-Silva, 2019). The evidence of a structurally racist social system is in both the high level of traumatic exposure and the reduced effect of economic capital as a protective factor for youth of color. Therefore, a Black or Latinx youth can live in and attend school in a community with high income-earning families and still have a higher propensity to experience multiple traumas. In the racialized United States, people of color are still confronted with racial trauma from individuals and institutions, and their hierarchical position cannot be exchanged for economic capital.

The What Happened to Them Trope

Years ago, Bloom (2013) asserted that educators may be more willing to operate from an ethic of care if they stopped asking what is wrong with the child and focused on “what happened to them.” Educators I have worked with have taken this position to heart and used it as a tool of pathology. This trope appears to rationalize educators’ deficit orientations of youth of color who they may view as “broken,” “lacking,” or “weak” in certain areas. Thus, a problem with this trope is that educators sometimes emote a sense of false empathy.

False empathy refers to an educator’s proclivity to believe they hold more empathy than what could be gained through a relationship with the student for whom the empathy is intended (Warren & Hotchkins, 2015). Much like fear and denial, false empathy is another racialized emotion that centers White-dominant knowledge. One could argue that false empathy and the what happened to them trope are antithetical to racial justice and collectivism because they minimize the possibility for cathartic experiences that can arise from conflicts over deliberating how structural racism shapes “what happened to them” (Bonilla-Silva, 2019; Ryden, 2007).

Trauma narratives of pathology are quite common in the research literature, and they perpetuate deficit views of marginalized people, creating greater challenges for youth who already experience disproportionately more trauma exposure. For example, in Alvarez’s (2020) review of youth trauma literature, there was evidence of prior research accentuating lower IQ scores, delays in language development, and contact with juvenile justice systems, mental health facilities, and drug/alcohol abuse due to trauma exposure. In effect, policymakers and educators are informed by these racialized and pathological narratives that give inadequate attention to the structural forms of racialized harm. In short, when educators reproduce the what happened to them trope, they may emote a sense of false empathy and perpetuate a discourse of pathology that “others” young people for their responses to conditions they often do not control.

Recommendations

The following recommendations are meant to better support trauma-exposed youth of color who may be impacted by these three racialized trauma narratives and others that are not included. Second, these recommendations provide potential empirical pathways for researchers to further study the race-trauma nexus, a site of inquiry that is sorely needed at this moment. Finally, these recommendations are meant to develop stronger race-conscious, interdisciplinary partnerships and research designs to enhance the collective youth trauma work.

Disrupt Trauma Tropes

School-based actors must acknowledge that each of these prominent trauma tropes perpetuate White dominance through igniting racialized emotions and ideological responses (Bennett & Walker, 2018; Donnor, 2016). For instance, the hearing gunshots trope justifies a heavier police presence in urban communities of color. So many educators and administrators I talk to know that most police officers are White and those most impacted by policing and mass incarceration are people of color (Alexander, 2010). Still, these same educators go so far as to justify police brutality by saying people should simply comply with officers (Alvarez & Milner, 2018). Furthermore, educators overlook the potential trauma youth of color might experience when encountering a law enforcement officer, witnessing the arrest of a caregiver, or seeing police enact violence on other people of color (Roberts et al., 2014).

The bottom line is that systems of racial dominance skew narratives and tropes to maintain the racial status quo. For instance, violence varies across social contexts and racial groups, and all efforts should be made to reduce violence exposure. Yet because poverty and violence often intersect (Buitrago et al., 2017), racialized narratives of violence overshadow how systems of oppression contribute to poverty and work to maintain the racial status quo. Considering the significantly high reports of trauma among youth of color (Sacks & Murphy, 2018; Slopen et al., 2016), the “helping traumatized kids learn” movement, often decontextualized (Gherardi et al., 2020), seems to target and pathologize youth of color when, in fact, the underlying racial structures need reform. A final point here is that racialized trauma tropes, such as the SES myth trope, are becoming a new form of othering—a deficit framing of trauma-exposed youth of color. In general, educators and other school-based actors should recognize deficit narratives and tropes and disrupt them through dialogue (Milner, 2020) and by having administrators and student-support teams work together to create more protective structures in schools (McKinney de Royston et al., 2021). In short, disrupting trauma tropes rejects a single narrative of trauma and contributes to a supportive environment where suffering can speak and healing can occur.

Shift Racialized Emotions

Of course, acknowledging the racial realities embedded in these and other trauma tropes will require educators to shift their racialized emotions. In discussing these racialized trauma tropes, fear, denial, and false empathy are some key White-dominant racialized emotions. Nonetheless, there are at least three necessary emotions needed for disrupting the racial order: anger, empathy, and love (Bonilla-Silva, 2019). Anger can be a driving force for action when it is joined with a desire for justice, liberation, and healing for marginalized people, but especially for Black women and others who occupy multiply marginalized identities (hooks, 1995). Empathy is also critical for humanizing racialized others. White people can demonstrate empathy when they learn both how to hurt and be joyful with people of color (Dillard, 2019; Ryden, 2007). For Ryden (2007), this means White people must problematize their own whiteness because it creates a barrier to forming productive emotional responses to the struggles and pain of marginalized people. Finally, love is foundational for bridging the us/them subjectivities and addressing human suffering across socially constructed boundaries (Anzaldúa, 2015; Hannegan-Martinez, 2019)

To illustrate, White families in high-poverty rural and urban areas should be angry about how economic stress and resource availability drive the statistically high number of gun-related injuries, suicide rates, and depression among their children (Herrin et al., 2018; Schwerdtfeger Gallus et al., 2015). Educators who work with White families in these geographic regions should discuss how state and federal economic policies that impact their children also impact families of color. Unfortunately, when they base their anger on racist, xenophobic, and nationalistic narratives of people of color or same-skilled workers born outside of the United States, White families may unintentionally prioritize the racial status quo over their children’s immediate socioemotional and economic interests.

When racialized actors, including educators, parents, and community members, have empathy and love for each other, they can develop a shared consciousness, and their collective struggles can work to destabilize polarization. As a protective mechanism, shifting racialized emotions can improve one’s ability to be a critical witness for students. To be effective witnesses for students, educators, parents, and community members must also allow students to be their witnesses (Dutro, 2011) by sharing the types of race-based emotions they feel.

Seek Group Solidarity

Certainly economic resources are vital to youth healing, but such resources may be enhanced through solidarity. In addition to the protective factor of income on reducing youth’s trauma exposure, it is conceivable that youth also receive a benefit from a sense of belonging to their communities. For instance, White youth living in predominantly White, high-income areas may be welcomed into existing social networks and micro-communities. In these wealthy, White communities, youth of color may not benefit to the same degree from such social networks and micro-communities because they may not experience the same sense of belonging and in-group solidarity. In the same way, high-poverty communities of color with a high concentration of organizations and services for young people can also reduce youth trauma exposure because they build a strong sense of interconnectedness (Emory et al., 2008). This might be why some White youth who live in high-poverty communities of color report higher rates of depression than Black youth (Schwerdtfeger Gallus et al., 2015). Although it is less prominent in the literature, a similar sense of collectivism and in-group solidarity may work as a protective mechanism for White youth who live in predominantly White, high-poverty rural communities.

The point here is that educators need to learn how to build collective memories of struggle with students to prioritize the power of a collective social movement toward more justice-oriented schools and societies (Mayorga & Picower, 2018). In fact, by studying interracial/intercultural/interclass solidarity through historical social movements focused on reducing violence, poverty, and improving labor conditions, for instance, educators could learn to build stronger collectives to reduce the exposure students of color have to trauma while also acting as a support for those who may happen to witness or experience something traumatic.

Reject Colonial Logics

If trauma is the result of colonial abuses, recovery and healing cannot be addressed with colonial resolutions (Anzaldúa, 2015). Consider the way in which the trauma-informed/sensitive schools movement has invaded educational spaces in a settler-colonial fashion, offering a lexicon to describe (our) children’s responses to White-dominant oppressive conditions. School-based actors must reject these racialized, colonial logics of dysfunctionality that define the spaces where youth learn and the ways in which their success and behaviors are measured (Annamma & Morrison, 2018). Furthermore, it is crucial to understand that recovery from colonial abuses requires an act of collective, critical resistance, which is possible through engaging in discourses across multiple realities and ways of knowing (Alvarez & Farinde-Wu, 2022). Indeed, the moment White-dominant institutions grab hold of “what works” with interventions, such as mindfulness or social emotional learning, educators should be cautious (Duane et al., 2021).

A recent review on youth trauma showed that reactive intervention approaches, such as programs, therapy, and support services, are far more common than preventive approaches that address sources of trauma, such as poverty, violence, and racism (Alvarez, 2020). Thus, educators should question how systems of dominance profit in these scenarios and uphold the racial status quo. For instance, one approach to reducing youth exposure to violence has been to increase security in schools, which was estimated to reach nearly $3 billion per year by 2021 (Cox & Rich, 2018). Educators must be encouraged to center racial justice and equity in their approaches and reject the White-dominant colonial logics that tout resilience (Bethell et al., 2014) and militarism as solutions to a structurally racist problem. Instead, educators and schools, more broadly, should consider how dialogues and political action can more effectively reduce institutional violence and crime through dismantling structurally racist sectors of government and reallocating their resources toward equity-focused education and work infrastructures (Ray, 2019). Additionally, educators and schools should partner with organizations that honor anti-racist teaching, learning, policies, and research as critical elements of a just and democratic society.

Conclusion

In the movement to address youth trauma, it is imperative that school-based actors acknowledge the nature of how racialized systems, structures, and beliefs shape the concept of trauma, the conditions in which youth in the United States experience trauma, and the ways in which White-dominant institutions shape discourses and tropes about trauma-exposed youth of color (Alvarez, 2020). The movement to support young people who are exposed to trauma can contribute greatly to disrupting racialized systems and White supremacy. As a collective, educators and researchers must understand that the resolutions we seek for healing at the race-trauma nexus cannot come from the same racialized systems that inflict the wounds.

Footnotes

ORCID iD

Adam Julian Alvarez

Notes

Author

ADAM ALVAREZ, PhD, is assistant professor of urban education at Rowan University, 201 Mullica Hill Rd, James Hall 2071, Glassboro, NJ 08028; alvareza@rowan.edu. His research explores the intersection of race, violence, trauma, and healing in and around teaching and learning contexts.

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