representation – From Cami

A Brief History on the Eugenics Movement

Eugenics, initiated by Sir Francis Galton and influenced by Darwin’s theories, is a discredited pseudoscience promoting racial superiority and discrimination based on genetics. This ideology led to forced sterilizations and shaped Nazi beliefs. Despite declining in popularity due to flawed research, remnants persist in scientific discourse, raising ongoing societal concerns.

6/8/26

Eugenics is a largely discredited pseudoscience and social philosophy. Its movement has encouraged policies where people with better genetics benefit in society and people with worse genetics are punished.

Inspired by the American eugenicist movement, Adolf Hitler and his Nazi party went for disabled people before he went for Jewish people. But eugenics officially began with Charles Darwin’s half-cousin, Sir Francis Galton. In case you’re in need of a refresher, Charles Darwin was a biologist and a geologist credited for his contributions to evolutionary science. He developed the theory that all species of life have descended from common ancestors and that different populations will adapt to their environments. The well-known phrase, “survival of the fittest,” is attributed to Darwinist evolutionary science. Unfortunately, it’s widely misunderstood and misused. Survival of the fittest does not mean that the strongest animal will survive out of the group. It means that the animal with the best traits for its environment will most likely survive in that given environment.

Now, back to Sir Francis Galton. He coined the word “eugenics,” which comes from Greek and means something along the lines of “good in birth.” To me, it just sounds and looks like it’s spelling “good genes.”

Galton was a proponent of controlling human evolution and development. He also believed abstract human traits such as intelligence was a result of heredity. He claimed only the “higher races” of people could be successful.

When the first groups of the eugenics movement began to form, a German biologist named Alfred Ploetz, coined the term “racial hygiene.” He proceeded to publish a book emphasizing the racial superiority of Nordic and “Aryan” people. This concept significantly influenced Nazi beliefs.

In the early 1900s, a loud, racist man named Charles Davenport asked the American Breeders Association to study eugenics. This organization had been committed to researching plant and animal breeding, alongside studying and promoting genetics.

By 1910, Michigan and Pennsylvania tried and failed to pass sterilization laws but Indiana had succeeded. Under this law, people with intellectual disabilities as well as certain criminals were forced to become infertile. In addition, any woman deemed “feebleminded” or “promiscuous” could also be sterilized. Around this time period, state officials believed that crime and poverty were caused by poor genetics.

Notable people of this time period were in support of this movement such as John Harvey Kellog and Alexander Graham Bell. In fact, Kellog (known for the cereal) and philanthropist Mary Williamson Harriman, funded Davenport’s research. Questionnaires were created for American families and fieldworkers were trained to compile data on traits like “feeblemindedness,” “criminality”, and “alcoholism.”

Eugenics started losing popularity in the 1930’s when many of its previous supporters vocalized how research was based on flawed experimental methods. Their application of knowledge was simplistic and their research was tainted by racist and classist biases. Proponents of eugenics tried to use their scientific knowledge to control immigrant populations. During this time period, European immigrants in America were seen as inferior to Nordic populations. They explained that non-Nordic European immigrants were prone to higher rates of criminality and other problems for genetic reasons. But eventually, more people were outspoken about the fact that non-Nordic Europeans were not any more likely to be criminals than Nordic Europeans. By this point, 30 states had already passed sterilization laws. Some of these laws were still in effect up until the 1980’s.

And then the 1990’s saw a resurgence of eugenics beliefs. Richard Hernstein and Charles Murray, along with James Watson, the former director of the NCHGR, have spouted ideology declaring that black people and Europeans are genetically predisposed to having lower IQ scores. And that these lower IQ scores led to criminality. Richard Hernstein and Charles Murray even co-authored their beliefs in a book titled “The Bell Curve.”

Eugenics, to this day, remains a problem in the scientific community and in society at large.

A Letter to “Rue”

An open letter touching on grief, death, loss, addiction, and our “Rue’s”.

6/7/26

It has been four years and a day since your passing. And I thought I healed enough from the gaping wound I received in my heart upon hearing the news of your overdose. But your name’s not Rue, first of all. You have, what I consider to be, a much prettier name, one that fits your embodiment during your time setting the earth ablaze with your uncontrollable inner fire, and dousing it, with your torrential moods. And secondly, this is not “Euphoria.”

Rue’s end was a window into your own transition into the next world, along with the transition of many others in America. And when I was forced to look into that window by social media, I discovered new things about your death. As I unpacked and unraveled at Rue’s passing on the show, I realized that your passing was not a gaping wound that I received in my heart when I was stabbed by the news of your death. It was more like an orthopedic condition which, as treated as it may be, suffers at the whims of the cold, wet, cloudy weather.

Rue Bennett died (to the tv audience) on May 31st, 2026 (the series finale). Six days before the fourth anniversary of your passing. Rue struggled with substance use disorder, among other mental health conditions, throughout much of her youth. Having succeeded at evading imminent danger, albeit with a painful gunshot wound to the shoulder, she found herself in a period of spiritual enlightenment or renewal. Rue died on her sponsor’s couch with an earbud in place, listening to an audio version of the Bible. She had taken a pill for her pain, which her murderer had given her. Unbeknownst to her, the pill she took was laced with fentanyl. In regard to the plot, presumably, he gave it to her after finding out she was a DEA informant.

Cue all of the social media discourse. All of these different voices became addiction experts. And it’s annoying because, who is an addiction expert? What are the criteria to qualify you as one and to make your demand to speak over others a valid one? And it’s annoying because we’re all, even me, speaking for those that left us because of this disease.

I was at one of the hospitals in downtown Chicago for a suspected foot fracture. I was sitting by the entrance, in the lobby, because the emergency room was packed with patients with all kinds of injuries, and homeless people walking in and out looking for some respite. A few hours earlier, I had showered in anticipation of the emergency room visit. While I sat in my apartment’s bathroom, I took note that the lights flickered three times, leaving me naked in the dark, and only slightly afraid. That morning you babysat our niece and nephew. You all enjoyed your day together. Everyone says you were happy and seemed sober. Nobody seemed to notice anything was off. Later that night, around the time I was bathing, your family had already put dinner on the table. Recently, you had been a finicky eater but, when you never came up for dinner from your makeshift bedroom in the basement, your parents went to check on you.

You were on your bed in your parents’ home, slumped over your laptop. Your laptop was still playing music. Your parents saw your three filled syringes, one of which you used. The coroner’s autopsy concluded that you died from an excessive amount of a sedative that veterinarians use on large animals. And as the fourth anniversary of your death came and went, we all watched Rue die from overdosing on a drug she didn’t even know she took.

The questions and criticisms and approval ensued from all of us impacted by SUD in one way or another.

Did Rue deserve to die halfway through the series finale while everyone else’s lives continued and their messes unraveled? I think we all agree, no, she did not.

Could Rue have had a more positive ending? Translation: Could our loved ones have had a more positive ending?

Was there any way to change the course they were already on? Perhaps. The same way there was always a chance our loved ones could not have died. We’ll never know or be able to imagine those endings because the struggles associated with SUD are complex.

Would an extremely positive ending, albeit highly-appealing, been even remotely realistic for this show?

Translation: Was it ever realistic to hope for more than what our loved ones received as their lot in life? The hopeless romantic in me would like to think there was always a slight chance. But, should’ve, could’ve, would’ve is what transpired instead.

Did Rue relapse? Translation: Did my “Rue” relapse or did something else occur? I certainly don’t believe fictional Rue took the pill with the intention of satiating that drive. I don’t agree with people who think so.

Who was to blame, out of all those recurring people in her life, for the circumstances of her final hours? Translation: I still think of your last choice in life and what or who was responsible for influencing you to make that decision. Could I have done something different to save you? Could someone else have done something different that would have saved you? Did they make you feel loved? Did I love you enough? Did you know it? Maybe, you didn’t know it and that’s why you left.

I leave my voice on this page and fill my head with yours. Until next time

The Test Won

The author reflects on a prior experience at a selective enrollment high school that received undeserved funding while questioning the allocation of resources within the education system. They highlight the disparity between schools and stress that funding should prioritize those in greater need, particularly amid the pressures of standardized testing and micromanagement.

4/6/26

Camila Isopo

I attended a selective enrollment high school over a decade ago. I was an upperclassman when we were visited by the then mayor to announce us receiving $1 million. I remember many of us being annoyed that his visit would interrupt our regularly scheduled programming. Access to the library was blocked off for those of us still needing to print our assignments because his speech was televised in there. And they were able to visit, with their cameras, the class that they chose, in the middle of instruction. And of course, it was my French class. I remember thinking that I was happy I chose to wash my hair the day before.

Most importantly, I remember all of us in my classes asking why we had to have this visit, why we had our schedules interrupted and access to key areas restricted, and why we were to receive this huge amount of money over the many other schools in the city. We knew we were doing just fine without it. There were schools in the city that needed it more. Students who were as smart and as gifted and as important as us, and they needed this money more. But they weren’t ever going to receive this large gift. And so we questioned it.

We were predominantly white. I wouldn’t say affluent but we were less poor than others. And we got this money we didn’t think we needed more than others.

Twelve years later, I’ve gone through this situation that has confirmed to me this one truth: the test won and I hate it. I was a brand new teacher at a school I loved that I thought I could fit into while being myself. And before that first year was up, I was fired.

The year before me, the students took their IAR tests and scored poorly. They lost rank and their target group was the students with disabilities. This happened for several simple truths. Number one: students with disabilities test poorly for a variety of reasons and that’s why they have their programs. Number two: this is a small school.

Number two is really important. The population of students with disabilities in an average school will only ever be a certain percentage of the total population of students at said school. Since the school is small and the students with IEPs tested poorly, it looks as if the school is doing poorly. At least test-wise.

What’s the problem with that?

Leadership is micromanaged. Teachers are brought in more “support.” People also get fired over things like this. Over time, rankings can get worse and more “support” is given to leadership and teachers. But, for schools with poor ranking, they can lose much needed funding.

This is what we don’t get. And we never did…Us smart kids, we never understood why the kids who were doing just fine…got more funds than kids who really needed it, as shown by their poor performance. And ironically, what decides they don’t get funding? The poor test scores. The lack of academic growth, as per state tests.

Give the money to the kids who need it. Wiith the system that exists now, teachers who love their kids and are loved back by them, who really are performing everyday magic in their classrooms, get punished for it. Just like I did, because my growth “wasn’t consistent,” and this “wasn’t sustainable” and the students have significant needs, and they need to test better because they’ll lose funding as a school in the future should the test scores not be higher.

I Should Have Made Your T-Chart For You, Kids

The author reflects on their dismissal from a teaching position, expressing frustration over their teaching methods being deemed ineffective despite efforts to support students with disabilities. They criticize the school’s focus on standardized test scores for funding instead of valuing personalized instruction, feeling their removal undermines student stability and growth.

March 23, 2026

You have a heart for kids. There’s a place for you in education. You’re so positive.

That’s what they said to me during my firing. And also that they knew I tried my best, that I was trying to learn and improve, blah blah blah. I did not get renewal and I was also dismissed the same day. They said they knew I wasn’t harming them. But the way they let me go sure made me feel like I had been.

My instruction is ineffective because I make the kids start their assignments from scratch even though they have learning disabilities and attention or hyperactivity issues. Even though I provide them with nonfiction summary graphic organizers for the organization of their ideas. Even though I provide them with slides upon slides of notes that they need. So all they have to do is copy them down. And I’ll highlight the most important texts for those that take too long to handwrite or decide which details are key. Even though they do “notice and wonders” and use sentence builders. Even though I provide videos and replay them. Even though they get to draw their ideas and work together to make visual models. Even though I send home copies of notes upon request. Even though they get opportunities to, and do, discuss with each other the content we’re learning together. Were learning together. Not anymore. But admin comes in a few times a year, almost sporadically, and then decides they haven’t seen enough. Even though they actually were learning and growing.

The problem now with them is that the students in the special education classroom are not testing high enough on the state tests. The kids don’t test high enough on those tests, then the school doesn’t get funding. The school lost ranking from years prior, from instructors and children prior to my arrival. But I’m brand new to the field. So, I have to go. Even though I don’t even teach the children the subjects in which they test poorly.

Firing me two months before the school year ends is what’s best for the disabled kids. Not letting me say goodbye is best for them. Removing their adult representation of who they are and what they struggle with, what they can achieve, is what’s best for the kids. Removing stability is what’s best for the kids. Having them grieve at a random point of the year is what’s best for the kids. All because I didn’t print them a ready-made T-chart so they could put their notices and wonders in. All because I gave them more content.

I should have cut their workload in half. That was going to be how they scored higher on their state exams so we could keep our funding. But I didn’t do that. I made them make their “T’s” from scratch. My bad, kids.

On Being an Educator, Post-COVID

The educator expresses the complexities of teaching adolescents, especially post-COVID, feeling both love and frustration towards her students. As a disabled Latina educator, she questions her place within a flawed system and grapples with the decision to leave her role, fearing her absence may deprive her students of needed representation and support.

How would I describe being an educator for adolescents and preteens? Near impossible, soul-sucking, liberating, and sickeningly sweet. Especially with it being post-covid and I love my nonbiological kids (the scholars) so much. I would die for any student in my class, literally. But it’s so hard to teach. It’s one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Teachers are nurturers. And as nurturers, they are overworked and underrewarded.

You get so invested trying to ensure your littles become kind, happy, well-rounded adults. It’s so hard to not feel like mistakes are personal failures. Like you’re a failure. You can, at times, take things personally.

But at the same time, I have questions about the whole system. And if I were to ask them aloud, I wonder if people would accuse me of skirting personal responsibility?

Can I, a disabled woman, really succeed in a field that was built for white able-bodied Americans? I mean, the system was built with the idea it can maintain white supremacy. And I’m a disabled Latina immigrant educator. Not that I’m saying me being Latina gets in the way of anything, though.

Anyway, as the summer approaches and my third year in education comes to an end, it’s looking highly likely that I’ll be stepping away. It’s a bittersweet, terrifying, and exciting departure from what I had previously envisioned for myself. I feel bad for the kids though. Did I mention my students are also disabled? I feel like by having to step away, I’m failing them. I’m them from the future. Representation matters. If I can’t do it, can they? And of course I know they can, but they need someone around who knows that and stands in that truth. What does that mean if I can’t represent them anymore?