Books on Anti-Racism & Indigenous Resurgence for Young Children

One of my most enduring struggles as a parent is how to much to tell my children about the world and how much to protect them. All of my own decisions about what to share are steeped in privilege, and they simultaneously remain a major stressor. In The Book of Delights, poet Ross Gay aims at chronicling the delights of a single year - with a particular focus on Black joy. Reminding us that white people love to consume stories of Black suffering (as he says “If I had a nickel for every white person who can recite lines from The Wire”), Ross Gay instead both explores anti-Black racism and simultaneously catalogues everyday delights, from the joy of a cardinal to the sweetness for him of the “pear tree already wealth with sun-blushed fruitlets” to the pleasures of greetings between people of colour in largely white spaces to the relief of spaces where white folks don’t intrude so BIPOC people might get a little rest from the everyday micro and macro aggressions of white supremacy. This month, as many parents struggle with how to share an ongoing climate of racist violence with our children, and also to change it so that they might live in a different world, I turn to 3 authors who manage to carve out a landscape of joy for children while not shying away from the urgent need for education on QT/BIPOC (Queer and Trans/Black and Indigenous People of Colour) issues for young children.

The Proudest Blue
by Ibtihaj Muhammad, with S.K. Ali; Illustrated by Hatem Aly

In this lovely and loving ode to sisterhood, Asiya and her sister Faizah head off to their first day of school. Asiya is wearing her first day of school hijab, the one that is the brightest blue, “the color of the ocean, if you squint your eyes and pretend there’s no link between the water and the sky.” Two princesses off to school. And yet, by the end of the first day, Asiyah has been questioned, bullied and subject to racist remarks by kids at their school. Asiya and Faizah are both wounded and frightened by the teasing, but they hold on to their mama’s words: “Don’t carry around the hurtful words that others say. Drop them. They are not yours to keep. They belong only to those who said them.” Asiya and Faizah draw close together to protect one another, and Faiza draws her sister a beautiful pictures of two princesses wearing hijabs, letting her sister know that “I’ll always be here, like sisters. Like me and Asiya.” This book opens conversations with our children about bullying as a structural problem – one connected to existing systems of discrimination. As Muslim women and girls remain primary gendered targets of anti-Muslim racism, this book provides a beautiful and uplifting opportunity to speak with our children gently about the world as it is and the world as it should be.

You Hold Me Up
by Monique Gray Smith, Illustrated by Danielle Daniel

I know parents are struggling to speak with the children about what is going on in the news with respect to ongoing settler colonialism, and the horrific legacy of residential schools. I have previous written about the amazing When We Were Alone which is specifically about residential schools (https://feministpicturebooks.mailchimpsites.com/when-we-were-alone). Monique Gray Smith has an excellent video on how to speak with our kids on settler colonization and Indigenous resurgence (https://www.cbc.ca/radio/thenextchapter/full-episode-june-26-2021-1.6077458/monique-gray-smith-shares-how-children-s-books-help-young-canadians-learn-more-about-residential-schools-1.6079150) where she also suggests authors for kids of many ages (thanks to my partner Allison for highlighting this for me). I wanted to flag Monique Gray Smith’s amazing book You Hold You Up. This book is so beautiful and so profound. I’m so tired of hearing Goodnight Moon is poetry. Yes, yes, it’s true, but let’s update. Here is the poetry that we need for this moment, to grow compassionate, resilient, empathetic and loving kids with an awareness of to whom Turtle Island rightfully belongs. You Hold Me Up reminds all of us that what we need is more care for all our relations. As she tells us, we don’t need self-care, when care for ourselves and our communities are one and the same: “You hold me up when you are kind to me. When you share with me. When you learn with me. When you laugh with me.” The beautiful finale of this book reminds us of that most basic social justice tenet, our interdependence: You hold me up. I hold you up. We hold each other up.”

We have been going through some big family changes this year, and in quiet moments of despair that I do not want to share with my children, I sometimes survey my bookshelf. You Hold Me Up gives me so much hope and uplift. Pulling it out for just that reason, I read it to my youngest son. “Mommy,” he said, this book makes me good somehow.” Thanks so much to Indigenous artists and movements like #Idlenomore in this moment for continuing to blaze a way forward. For other equally wonderful books celebrating Indigenous resurgence, check out: Little You (for babies), Swift Fox All Along and Treaty Words: For as Long as the Rivers Flow (for young children) and for teen readers, Jonny Appleseed.

Don’t Touch My Hair
by Sharee Miller

Much like The Proudest Blue is a book that is simultaneously about bullying and about gendered racism, Don’t Touch My Hair seamless weaves together narratives of anti-Black racism and the importance of bodily autonomy and consent. Here, a little girl is constantly besieged with a sea of hands wanting to touch her beautiful hair. No matter where the goes, whether the highest mountain or the farthest castle, she cannot escape. Although she spends much of the book in flight from grasping hands, finally she cannot hold it in any longer, and a long, loud NO! bursts forth from her. And she is free. In a parenting workshop in the last year, my partner and I listened in amazement as parents were encouraged “never to say no to their children, because no is perceived as a threat.” I do realize that an unending series of nos is frustrating and demoralizing to children, but my partner wondered aloud, what does it mean to raise children who never hear and can never say no? What does this mean for the women in the future, for BIPOC folks? What does it mean for the world? This book usefully connects the importance of no to consent, and shows how the importance of developing a firm no for bodily boundaries can help to shift our existing world.

I know that these times remain rough. If you or your family or a teacher or anyone you know is looking for books, please feel free to contact me. I'm always happy to speak to any parent, teacher, or anyone else about books I'd recommend on divorce, on grief, on anxiety, and other topics that may be of interest to folks.