pop culture
Pop culture has a place in the classroom; popular trends like hip hop help to foster interest and ignite conversations in education.
Can You Hear The Music?
Say — have you ever stumbled upon musical lyrics, like, under a bridge, on a daily commute? You might suppose that this is an odd thing to ask someone. Even so, finding all sorts of graffiti under bridges is not exactly difficult, and some of this graffiti — if you stop and really look — clearly took some time and patience. So much so, perhaps, that I've seen photographers stop in their tracks and take photos just to document it.
By Delusions of Grandeur 10 months ago in Education
Dr. Leo Igwe Speaks on Ending Witchcraft Allegations in the 21st Century
Dr. Leo Igwe spoke to the Ethical Humanist Society of Chicago about how unexamined superstition and dogma produce tangible harm. Using today’s African witchcraft accusations, he drew parallels to Europe’s early modern witch panics and argued the phenomenon is transnational, not “African culture.” Because witchcraft lacks evidentiary basis, accusations operate like criminal charges yet deny presumption of innocence and can spark violence against vulnerable people. Religious entrepreneurs exploit exorcism narratives for status and money. Igwe urged accountability—policing, prosecutions, and institutional reform—plus prevention through early critical-thinking education, international solidarity, and a humanist commitment to evidence and rights, unfinished global human-rights work.
By Scott Douglas Jacobsen10 months ago in Education
The Student Who Asked One Question
M Mehran On the first Monday of September, Ms. Harris walked into her classroom and immediately noticed the empty chair in the back. It wasn’t truly empty—someone had placed a stack of old notebooks on it, and a broken pencil lay on top like a flag of surrender. But according to the roster, that seat belonged to a new transfer student named Samir. He didn’t show up until Wednesday. When he did, he slipped into the room with the quietness of someone who had learned how not to be seen. He sat in the back, eyes down, shoulders drawn in tight. Ms. Harris tried her warmest smile, but he didn’t lift his gaze. Still, she had hope. She always had hope. It was the one thing she never let the district budget cuts take from her. --- A Question No Teacher Expects For the first month, Samir barely spoke. He completed assignments perfectly but without expression, like a machine performing a task. Whenever she tried to engage him—about books, about hobbies, about the weather—he answered politely, but without spark. Then one afternoon, as the rest of the class scattered for recess, Samir approached her desk and asked the question that lodged itself in her heart. “Ms. Harris… how do you know when you’re smart?” She blinked. She had been expecting a question about the homework, maybe a request for an extension on the upcoming essay. Not this. “What do you mean, sweetie?” she asked gently. He hesitated. Then: “I don’t think I’m smart. But I want to be.” Her throat tightened. Here was a child—twelve years old—carrying the weight of self-doubt heavier than his backpack. She wondered who had convinced him he wasn’t enough. “You know you’re smart,” she said slowly, “when you’re willing to learn. Smart isn’t something you are. It’s something you grow.” Samir nodded, but she could see he didn’t quite believe her yet. That night, she stayed late crafting something she hoped would change that. --- The Growth File The next morning, she placed a bright red folder on Samir’s desk labeled: THE GROWTH FILE. He looked at it as if it might explode. “Every time you learn something,” she explained, “no matter how small, write it down and add it to the folder. This way, you’ll have proof. Real, physical proof, that you’re getting smarter every day.” He stared at her. “Even if it’s tiny?” “Especially if it’s tiny,” she said. The first slip he added read: I learned how to use a semicolon. The second: I solved a math problem I got wrong last week. The third: I asked a question in class. By October, the folder was thick enough that the edges curled. But something else was happening too. He was changing. He raised his hand more. He joined group discussions without being prompted. He smiled—just once, a flicker, but she caught it. And once he even laughed at a joke she’d made, which was a miracle in itself because her jokes were famously terrible. --- The Presentation In November, the class began their biggest project of the year: a five-minute presentation on a topic they cared about. Most students groaned. Some panicked. But Samir simply walked up to her desk and asked, “Can I present my Growth File?” Yes, she wanted to say. Please. You should. The world needs to hear you. But instead she asked, “Are you sure?” He nodded. “I want to show people that growing is real.” On presentation day, students filed to the front one by one—slideshows on oceans, posters on basketball, speeches about space, animals, and video games. And finally, it was Samir’s turn. He carried the folder like something sacred, placed it on the podium, and calmly said, “I thought I wasn’t smart. But then Ms. Harris told me that smart is something you grow. So… I started growing.” The class listened, unusually quiet. He read a few entries—short, simple moments of learning—but each one landed like a stone in still water. Then he lifted his gaze from the folder for the first time all year. “I’m not finished growing,” he said. “But I know I can. And that means I’m smart.” Ms. Harris felt her eyes prick with tears. For once, she didn’t fight them. The class clapped, loud and long. And Samir? He stood straighter. Taller. Like a weight he’d been carrying alone had finally been set down. --- The Letter On the last day of school, Ms. Harris found a note inside her mailbox. No name, but she recognized the handwriting. > Dear Ms. Harris, Thank you for showing me how to grow smart. I’m going to keep adding to the folder wherever I go. I think one day it will be very full. From, Samir Inside the envelope was a single slip of paper—new, bright, blank. The next step, she realized. She tucked it into her own desk, her own reminder that growth never stops—not for students, not for teachers, not for anyone still willing to learn.
By Muhammad Mehran11 months ago in Education
The Classroom With No Doors
M Mehran When Maya stepped into Room 12 for the first time, she thought she had made a terrible mistake. The walls were bare. The desks didn’t match. The single window looked out onto a parking lot. And the class list—oh, the class list—read like a challenge written by someone who doubted she’d last until October. Twelve students reading well below grade level. Six with behavioral flags. Three newcomers who spoke almost no English. And one, according to the previous teacher’s note, who had “a talent for escaping the classroom when overwhelmed.” This was her first year as a teacher. Her dream job. Her calling. Yet standing there with her box of freshly laminated posters and overly optimistic lesson plans, she felt the first earthquake of fear. She wasn’t sure if it showed on her face, but the custodian passing by paused just long enough to say, “Kids don’t need fancy. They need someone who sees them.” At the time, she didn’t fully understand what he meant. But the year would teach her. --- The First Lesson The first week was chaos wrapped in crayons. Leila cried when the morning bell rang. Danny slammed his desk shut—twice—when the math worksheet looked too hard. The new student from Honduras, Mateo, stared at his hands, terrified to speak, while his seatmate whispered encouragement in broken Spanish she’d learned the night before on YouTube. And then there was Jayden. On day three, he slipped out the door while Maya’s back was turned. She found him sitting against the hallway wall, knees pulled to his chest. “I don’t do reading,” he muttered. But when she sat next to him, he added softly, “I’m just not good at it.” Maya didn’t push him. Instead, she asked what he was good at. “Drawing,” he said without hesitation. So they made a deal: he could draw a scene from every story they read. No pressure to read aloud. No spotlight. Just creation. He nodded. It was the first tiny bridge they built together. --- The Unexpected Shift Two months in, the class had found its rhythm—messy, unpredictable, loud, but undeniably theirs. Maya had abandoned the rigid pacing guides she once clung to. Instead, she built lessons around the students themselves—stories from their cultures, math problems that used their names, writing prompts that began with, “Tell me something only you know.” Mateo slowly traded silence for short, brave sentences. Leila stopped crying when Maya added a morning “Feelings Check-In” board. Danny discovered he was a natural leader when she put him in charge of the class job chart. Small victories—but victories nonetheless. The moment everything changed came on a rainy Tuesday. The power flickered out, and with it, her entire Smartboard lesson. The class groaned. But Maya lit three battery-powered lanterns, placed them in a circle, and told the students, “Today, you’re going to teach me something instead.” The stories spilled out—about countries left behind, favorite songs, brothers in the military, dreams of becoming bakers or firefighters or dancers. Jayden shared how he drew characters to escape bad days at home. Even the shyest students spoke in the warm glow of the lanterns. Education stopped being something she delivered from the front of the room. That day, it became something they built together. --- The Project That Changed Everything By spring, Maya introduced what she called “The Classroom With No Doors Project”—a digital and art exhibition showcasing each student’s learning journey. “Why no doors?” one student asked. “Because learning doesn’t stay inside a classroom,” Maya said. “It goes wherever you go next.” Each child created something that represented their growth. Essays, poems, murals, videos. Jayden designed a comic book featuring every student as a superhero, each with a power based on their strength—courage, creativity, kindness, resilience. He titled it Room 12: The Unstoppables. When parents visited, many cried. Not because of the polished work, but because they saw themselves reflected in their children’s pride. Mateo presented a slideshow—in English. Leila stood tall beside her painting of the morning sun, explaining how she had learned to manage her worries. Danny introduced the new job chart system he invented that other teachers asked to copy. And Jayden stood beside his comic, cheeks flushed with a shy, fierce pride Maya had never seen before. --- The Final Day On the last day of school, the desks were bare again, and the walls empty—except for one poster Maya left up: “You were here. You mattered.” The students hugged her good-bye, some promising to visit, others simply waving as they disappeared into summer. But Jayden lingered. “I started reading more,” he said, voice low. “I kinda like it now.” She smiled. “I always knew you could.” He shook his head. “No… I just needed someone who saw me first.” When he walked out, she finally understood the custodian’s words from that very first morning. Kids don’t need fancy. They need someone who sees them. And sometimes, the greatest classrooms are the ones where the doors feel invisible—where students don’t feel trapped, but instead feel free to walk into the world carrying everything they learned, everything they became, and everything they are still becoming.
By Muhammad Mehran11 months ago in Education
The Day I Realized My Phone Was Controlling My Life. Content Warning. AI-Generated.
I never thought it would happen to me. Losing control, I mean. I always laughed at people who said their phones were “taking over their lives.” I told myself I was different—more disciplined, more aware. I believed I used my phone smartly, not obsessively. But one quiet Sunday morning proved me completely wrong. It started like every other day. I woke up, reached for my phone before opening both eyes fully, and checked notifications with the kind of urgency people usually reserve for emergencies. Seventeen messages, three missed calls, thirty-two social media alerts, and one email that definitely wasn’t worth reading at 7:00 a.m. Still, I tapped through every single one. When I finally sat up, my neck hurt, my eyes stung, and my mind felt strangely heavy—like I had already lived a whole day inside those tiny glowing icons. I told myself I’d put the phone down after “just five minutes.” Five minutes became an hour. An hour became three. By the time the sun was high, I had done absolutely nothing with my day except scroll. It hit me when I looked up and saw sunlight pouring through my window, lighting up dust particles in the air. For a moment, I felt like life was happening somewhere outside my room, outside my screen—somewhere I wasn’t invited. A strange guilt bubbled in my chest. Why was I letting the world pass by while I watched people I didn’t even know living their own? Still, I couldn’t stop. My fingers kept moving like they had a mind of their own. Scroll. Tap. Like. Swipe. Scroll again. It wasn’t even enjoyable. It was automatic, mechanical—like breathing, but forced. My breaking point came later that afternoon. I was sitting at the dining table with my little nephew, who had come over with my sister. He was telling me a story about how he built a rocket with cardboard at school. He was excited—eyes shining, hands waving, voice bouncing with pride. I nodded, pretending to listen. But my attention was on my phone. A video had popped up of some influencer showing her “morning routine.” I don’t know why I clicked it, but I did. The video wasn’t even interesting, yet I watched it like I had no choice. Then I heard the softest voice beside me. “Do you want to see my rocket or your phone?” I froze. I slowly looked up, and there he was—my nephew—with disappointment on his tiny face. He held his cardboard rocket in one hand, the tip bent slightly. His shoulders drooped. His excitement had dissolved into something that made my heart ache. In that moment, reality hit me harder than any notification ever could. My phone had stolen something precious. Not just my time, but my presence. My attention. My humanity. What scared me most wasn’t that I ignored him. It was that I didn’t even realize I was doing it. I put my phone down. For the first time that day, I really looked around. The table. The room. Him. “I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it deeply. “Show me.” His face brightened instantly, like forgiveness came as easily to him as breathing. As he explained each part of the rocket—the fins, the nose, the glitter he said was “space magic”—I felt something shift inside me. Something warm. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Presence. I realized how much of life I had been watching through a screen instead of living. How many conversations I half-heard. How many meals I ate while scrolling. How many mornings I started with stress because the world demanded my attention before I even got out of bed. That evening, after he left, I sat on my bed with my phone in my hand. For the first time, it didn’t feel like a tool. It felt like a chain. Quiet. Cold. Invisible. And I knew something had to change. No dramatic speeches. No deleting all my apps. No throwing my phone away. Just one simple promise to myself: “I will choose moments over notifications.” Since that day, I’ve tried to reclaim pieces of my life—slowly, imperfectly, but intentionally. I keep my phone in another room when I eat. I start mornings with silence instead of scrolling. I pay attention when people talk. I breathe without feeling like I’m missing something online. And every once in a while, when my habits slip and my fingers drift toward the endless scroll, I remember the quiet voice of a child asking me a question that changed everything: “Do you want to see my rocket or your phone?” It was the day I realized my phone wasn’t just a device. It was a distraction powerful enough to steal the moments that truly mattered. And I finally decided to take them back.
By Waqas Ahmad11 months ago in Education
The Art and History of Tribadism: Exploring the Rich Tapestry of Women's Intimacy. Content Warning.
For centuries, women's sexuality, particularly when focused on relationships with each other, has often been relegated to the shadows of historical narratives, artistic representation, and even modern conversation. However, the intimate practice known as **tribadism**—a form of mutual clitoral stimulation between two partners, often referred to colloquially as "scissoring"—is not merely a modern footnote. It is a deeply rooted, complex, and fascinating facet of human connection and sexual expression that spans cultures and epochs.
By noor ul amin11 months ago in Education
Unleashed by Nature: The YouTube Channel Revealing Earth’s Wildest, Rarest, and Most Extreme Natural Phenomena
Unleashed by Nature: The YouTube Channel Revealing the Wild World Like Never Before In a digital world overflowing with fast entertainment and short-lived trends, there remains one force that never loses its power to inspire awe: nature. From the deepest oceans to the highest mountain peaks, from predators that rule their territories to strange creatures few people have ever seen—our planet is bursting with breathtaking stories. And at the heart of this exploration stands Unleashed by Nature, a YouTube channel dedicated to showcasing the most stunning wildlife moments, extreme weather phenomena, and unbelievable natural events from across the globe.
By Anthony Boone11 months ago in Education
How Purity Culture has affected Gen Z’s self-esteem. Content Warning.
Like most college students, I find myself scrolling aimlessly through TikTok and Instagram Reels. Every once in a while, I’ll stumble upon a video that just completely blows me away. Recently, I watched a video about Ballerina Farm, which is about a woman who was a ballerina but gave up her career to be a traditional wife in Utah. Looking deeper, I found that she has millions of followers and many people love this content. Most comments support and even want this type of lifestyle. I don’t think it’s wrong to wish for this type of lifestyle, but it supports the idea of Purity Culture, which has been on the rise, especially among youth.
By Chris Cerna11 months ago in Education
