Today we’d like to introduce you to Becky McCammon.
Hi Becky, we’d love for you to start by introducing yourself.
The good short answer: I’m Mom to Lily (12) and Quinn (15), a proud St. Paul resident, and rather prone to loud bursts of laughter. The still good, but lengthier answer: I’m still working on the how and why of telling my story. As a reader and journaler from a young age, the stories that mattered- and ones published- were ones that other people penned and most often, centered on a white narrative. As an Asian American woman, my identity as an absent narrative or secondary character was nurtured and codified in so many places, spaces, and messages. Who I became as an English teacher, educator coach, and leader in equity and restorative practices was borne of that dynamic understanding, empathy, and imperative: how might all of us feel supported to be powerful, present, and celebrated authors and storytellers in our lives and towards dismantling the system of white supremacy that would have us muted and invisible.
2020 was a remarkable year for many reasons and our shared and familiar memories ache in their harm. In March of that year, in the midst of my participation in the St. Paul Federation of Educators’ strike, I got word that I would receive the Education Minnesota Human Rights Award. Later that month, my book, “Restorative Practices at School: An Educator’s Guided Workbook to Nurture Professional Wellness, Support Student Growth, and Build Engaged Classroom Communities” was published. Experiencing these incredible celebrations during an intense period of “what in the world is this reality” inspired and required profound reflection: who had I become, how did I feel about her, and what did I crave for the future?
A year later, drenched in the complexities of COVID’s ongoing impact- a racial uprising, increased Asian American hate crimes, strains abundant on everyone’s mental wellness and physical safety- I made a critical choice to leave my job in Saint Paul Public Schools at the close of the school year. The moment I decided to resign a very particular writer’s block disappeared and I was able to compose a picture of my future soaked in abundant freedom and possibility. I crafted a spreadsheet of my life towards turning 50 (from my humble 45), a mapping I had never been able to compose before. For each year of my growth, I named my children’s ages as well. I listed the values I wanted to be living in and what that might look like, from college visit road trips I could afford to brighter, bolder, sillier clothes in my wardrobe.
June 11th, 2021 was my final day employed with St. Paul Public Schools. Since then, through restoratively (y)ours, a moniker borne of my affection for closing out notes and emails with unique phrases (with cheer and popcorn, with bright skies and sunscreen… you get the picture), I’ve been supporting schools, districts, and community organizations in their journeys in learning about and implementing transformative justice and healing in their spaces.
Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
I’ll lean into a present truth that connects to your generous question: these days I am often the co-pilot to my 15-year-old practicing driver. From my vantage in the passenger seat, I can make choices to be guiding, supportive, and, at times, to react with a distinct response for our shared safety. This aligns gently with the values and approach I am seeking to take in these opening months (and hopeful years) of transforming my “work” life: pause, pay attention, and provide.
From college on, I have been engaged as a learning, evolving, hiccuping, and hopeful professional. Educators work abundant hours, always. To be a distinguished educator, the sort I knew I wanted and needed to be, I dedicated my time, energy, and identity to my work in schools. And, no matter the nature of my investment, the compensation remained consistently unjust. It’s not that I was without health care or reassuring benefits, but I-like so many people- was engaged in a system tied to cycles of chronic underfunding, relentless rubrics and rules, and a punishing narrative.
So, to the road metaphor: these days I choose to walk instead of driving. I choose to pace myself and notice the exits I might or could take. Instead of wandering past the signs that proclaim a fantastic view, I do my best to take those meandering paths. I must prioritize my health and cannot drive on fumes.
These days, I answer to myself as employer, employee, HR, and beyond. I am accountable to my history of being blessed with dynamic learning, gorgeous mentors and friends, and to my family. No longer wed to every other week paychecks, nor fighting for $.25 more cents an hour, I am consistently challenged and in awe of this new stage in my life. I like to believe that Becky of my younger years would be so, so amazed at who I am becoming.
Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
Since 2016, I’ve been incredibly blessed to come into story and practice with restorative and transformative justice. This language and belief- that at the heart of healthy movements for radical change are meaningful relationships, community rituals, and accountability paired with robust support- has been life-spiriting for me. Soulful and true to this work is the practice of circle, a way of being, drawn from Indigenous and First Nation spaces around the world and here in Minnesota.
My work- as a circle keeper, collaborator, and learning partner- humbly seeks to be of support to communities, schools, and systems that wish to embrace restorative practices, like circle, and find ways to strengthen their commitment to justice and equity. For 5 years I was fortunate to be a part of a remarkable learning journey with St. Paul Public Schools and St. Paul Federation of Educators as their first restorative practice coordinator. Gratefully, my story was supported by generous elder wisdom, community circle keepers, and abundant allies.
I believe that all of us have experienced relational mirror and reassurance (I do belong!) when we speak our truth, feel heard, and are gifted space to genuinely listen to others in their humanity. And yet, so much mutes, abbreviates and interrupts these natural impulses towards knowing and empathizing with one another (not least of which is the ongoing presence of white supremacy and its many tentacles of harmful impact).
I have sought- as an educator of color, a Korean adoptee, a daughter, sister, partner, and mother- to belong to relationships and communities in healthy, healing ways. Raised by a single mother as my other parent wrestled in their story as a transgender woman, I have, per language my therapist kindly offers, attachment wounds. I have not always said no when that was best, nor yes when that was wise (amidst other fallibilities). And, I am absolutely not alone in this.
Since releasing myself from a traditional employer/employee relationship, I more fully belong to myself- professionally and personally.
Can you talk to us about how you think about risk?
One of my very, very, very wise mentors, Dr. Maisha Winn- author of several texts, including Justice on Both Sides: Transforming Education Through Restorative Justice – created a framework called the pedagogical stances. Picture a large circle and within that, another circle drawn, another and then another. The outermost circle holds the value and truth that history matters. Within that, race matters. Within that, justice matters. And at the center, language matters.
Here’s how I might walk this prompt about risk through the stances: In my history and experiences, how have I witnessed others taking risks? What about those memories influenced my values, fears and faith? When I tried out for dance line in middle school, even though I never had formal lessons, there was an innocence to such risk taking. When I went out for the cross-country team to stay close to a friend, despite loathing running and having no stamina, something else felt at risk and prompted my behavior.
To race and justice matters: When I risked trying out for Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz in 5th grade, only to be told that it would be more appropriate to audition for another role (I was cast at the Wicked Witch of the West), I learned about what I risked as a person of color. I remember learning about the melting pot, color blindness, and “turn the other cheek” principles at home and in learning spaces. I was reminded again and again never to risk being perceived as a complainer, paranoid in my perspective, or to give value to how something impacted me when a person’s “intentions” were always assumed to be good.
All of this cumulatively means that my relationship to risk is tied to my history, race, and experiences with justice and injustice. It means that I work every day- via restoratively (y)ours and with family and friendships- to practice language that invites, welcomes, and supports community building and the development of trust so that meaningful, vital dialogues about race and equity feel less risky.
Lastly, since Justice On Both Sides was published, Dr. Winn has revised her pedagogical stances to include a fifth stance: futures matter (picture an orbiting circle around the other stances). These days, I balance my relationship to my history and identity with the liberating right to create a just future for myself, one with healthy risk, reassurance, and reward.
Thank you so, so much for the invitation to pen these words to your community.
Contact Info:
- Email: r_mccammon@mac.com
- Website: restorativelyyours.com
- Instagram: @quilymom
- Twitter: @MsMcCammon
