Many of us* live in fragmentation from ourselves, our communities, our histories and the environment—shaped in big and small ways, across public and private life, through historical forces and present-day economic and social pressures. One of the most significant manifestations of this fragmentation is how we come to treat knowledge of our worlds as something alien to us, and that must be granted by an external authority in order to feel valid.
In Paulo Freire’s thinking about this matter, he describes two opposing models of education. In the ‘banking model’ there is always two separate categories of learner and authority figure; learners are treated as containers into which knowledge is deposited by authority figures, and conformity is prized. In contrast, in the ‘problem-posing model’, both teacher and learner identify a problem which both parties face together. Knowledge here is something produced through dialogue and relationship: co-investigated, co-created, and lived.
I understand the banking model as a core expression of coloniality, a product not only of imperial conquest, but also of other forms of domination (interpersonal, institutional, and cultural) that condition us to distrust and denigrate our own ways of knowing and to defer to external validation.
Colonisation, once enacted, cannot be undone. Some ruptures remain. But we can make new justices. We can cultivate alternative ways of relating to ourselves, to each other, to history, and to the environment… what I think of as sweet medicines: life-affirming practices of knowing, drawn from the past, from where we are, and from elsewhere.
My work here in Studio Styles is to produce these sweet medicines for social healing. This work is part of a shared labour carried across time by those who have thought, built, and cared before me, and those who will continue after.
* I am most interested in the “us” shaped by colonial and postcolonial conditions, while recognising that fragmentation is not a universal or dominant experience for all. For many, violence, extraction, and precarity are more immediate than questions of knowledge. For some, clear hierarchies of knowledge reduce uncertainty, and questioning them can feel destabilising rather than liberatory.
And there are communities with strong, continuous knowledge traditions where knowing remains relational by norm and necessity and for whom this position would be familiar. This includes, for example, those who work closely with the land such as farmers and herbalists, craft communities, and certain spiritual traditions where knowledge is felt as embodied and/or ancestral.
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I am most interested in those of us whose ways of knowing have been shaped or constrained by dominant systems, and who are seeking more life-affirming and attuned ways of moving through the world, whether because we have been harmed by these systems, or because we sense their limits even while benefiting from them.
What is at stake is not only individual coherence, but the kinds of worlds we are able to build. When people are estranged from their own ways of knowing, they are more easily governed through manipulation, more easily extracted from, and more likely to reproduce systems misaligned with life. Recovering and cultivating other ways of knowing is therefore not optional; it is part of making more sustainable, just, and liveable futures possible.