by Kristine Riley

This is part three of a four-part series on abolitionist pedagogy, Star Wars’ Andor, and aspirations for teaching and learning at CUNY.

In my previous two posts, I discussed how the Star Wars: Andor series can inspire pedagogical interventions that help educators explore, imagine, and practice abolitionist pedagogy. I talked about how the trajectory of Cassian’s political consciousness offers opportunities to reflect on our own development with humility and how an abolitionist pedagogy can encourage dialogue and solidarity. I had some insecurities about those pieces because, like many critical terms that make their way into academic discourse, I worried the theoretical applications and fictional world of Star Wars would run the risk of appropriating or decontextualizing the politics and history of abolition. This sentiment is particularly important as abolition has been increasingly discussed in mainstream political discourse[1], and popular understandings navigate the tensions between inspiration and depoliticizing counter insurgency. While education can be liberatory and facilitate political consciousness, the university is also a bureaucratic institution[2] that is shaped and controlled by broader society’s investments in capitalism, racism, ableism, and a multitude of other forms of inequality—including its investments in carcerality. I know there are connections between Andor and abolitionist praxes, but I also think there are limitations and important boundaries to be mindful of when applying it to one’s pedagogy.

Thankfully, this isn’t something I have to think through alone. This year at the TLC, the fellows and staff are having internal discussions about abolition and its relevance to our pedagogy and work in the university context. Our initial session started by reviewing definitions of the prison industrial complex (PIC), PIC abolition, and the connections between PIC abolition and the abolition of slavery in the US. Grounding our work and understanding in the history and materiality of the PIC helped guide our discussions and future explorations by emphasizing that abolition isn’t a metaphor and is fundamentally about freedom.

In a follow up session facilitated by my colleague Jenna, she shared the following quote from Abolition University Studies: An Invitation:

“The abolition university recognizes that abstract oppositionality and critique, left to their own devices, may in fact unwittingly reproduce accumulation regimes by offering their practitioners the sense of moral supremacy and social exteriority necessary to imagine knowledge production as a form of change in itself. Instead, we imagine the abolition university as a relation, a network, and an ethos with various potentials for transforming what and whom the university can be for.”

Thus, while there are risks when bridging abolition and the university, this doesn’t mean abolition has a stringent definition that can only be applied to the literal act of freeing people from prisons, jails, and carceral surveillance. Abolition is about the ways theory, politics, and collaboration across movements are grounded in the desire to build relationships and communities where carceral power no longer dictates justice.  It is essential our work as educators is part of this struggle. Working through these ideas collectively has not only emphasized that there is a place for abolition to inform pedagogy, but also the clarified the importance of creating intentional learning communities[3] as part of abolitionist praxis.

The material conditions of the Empire in the Star Wars universe are directly applicable to our political analysis of the US as a prison nation. As I mentioned in my first post, because the PIC has been so ingrained into the public’s common sense as a necessity, the fantasy of Andor invites criticality and imagination in ways that might not be immediately obvious when first engaging with abolition. For instance, Andor takes place just after the Star Wars universe experiences the deterioration of the Republic and the rise of the Galactic Empire–an authoritarian regime controlled by Emperor Palpatine, who was first elected by the Galactic Senate after orchestrating crisis and exploiting the galaxy’s worst fears[4] What we see in Andor is that the Galactic Empire maintains its control in a former republic and institutionalizes norms of authoritarianism through its expansion of carceral forces and sanctions, such as enhanced patrolling, surveillance, and punishment that simultaneously force compliance and attempt to quash coordinated resistance and rebellion. 

Cassian’s rejection of community throughout the series–from his initial focus on a solo escape from Ferrix, to his break from the rebels, even the beginning of his incarceration–makes him more vulnerable to the Empire’s harm throughout multiple points of the series, and it is only through collaboration and trust-building that he is able to fight back against injustice. Episodes 7 through 10 of Andor depict Cassian’s capture and eventual escape from the Empire’s carceral system and provide inroads to discuss criminal legal policy and practice, incarceration, and the significance of the work of political prisoners that apply to PIC abolition in the US. From Cassian’s interaction with imperial forces and presumed criminalization, to the way his imposed sentence was increased by the empire from 6 months to 6 years without explanation, to his arrival at the Narkina 5 Imperial Prison Complex and participation in a prisoner-led rebellion; Andor’s carceral critique may slip past a general audience distracted by the fantasy of robots, storm troopers, and futuristic lingo, but the parallels to the US’ criminal legal system are stunning and worth our attention. New York City streets and universities have seen waves of rebellions against injustice and institutional higher powers have invested in surveillance technology[5], repeatedly deploying the NYPD and National Guard with increased lethal force[6], rather than take seriously the issues people are rebelling against. New Yorkers have persevered and built power through continued organizing, using strategies like safety planning[7], mutual aid[8], and jail or court support[9]. Like Cassian, survival, resistance, and victories are possible through community building. 

Then there are the questions Andor raises for our pedagogy and the opportunities it opens up to create more intentional and connected learning communities. It is important we don’t just teach about freedom in theory, but find ways to collectively practice it with our students and in how we navigate our institutions. We can think about how our class policies or university policies reinforce punishment, isolation, and surveillance in our learning communities and develop strategies that interrupt or combat those forces by seeing learning and growth not as individual pursuits, but communal experiences. For instance, plagiarism is a legitimate issue for higher education, even in the abolitionist context because it relates to the power dynamics of knowledge production and intellectual labor. How we address these issues is shaped by external forces, which are currently organized around carceral interventions, like deterrence through the threat of punishment. Concerns about AI and plagiarism have led universities to rely on plagiarism detection software and encourage–or even mandate–instructors to include strict zero-tolerance plagiarism policies on their syllabi that come with serious consequences, such as failing students in the assignment or course, and even reporting them to the university[10] 

But such strategies tell us very little about why our students are turning to AI and produces distrust between students and faculty by positioning AI as a unique moral failing of individual students. Building relationships and classroom spaces where we can explore these decisions and outcomes honestly with students yield much more information and possibilities for making things right. Some may use an AI tools to check their grammar or receive guidance on how to structure a paper because they didn’t receive this preparation prior to college, they are unfamiliar with resources like tutors or a writing center, or their schedules prevent them from accessing such support. Some may feel like their scholastic, work, and personal obligations make it impossible to complete course deliverables. Understanding why students feel tempted or pressured to use AI is so much more important than catching them when they do. When we don’t take these into consideration, it threatens our relationships with our students, so thinking about these issues pedagogically can help us stay true to academic integrity without relying on carceral forces.

There are concrete steps we can take as educators to demonstrate vulnerability, understanding, and solidarity with students who may transgress our community values. When we have a deeper understanding of our students’ experiences, we can develop pedagogical strategies that rely on trusted relationships and not threats of punishment. It is imperative that students trust that it’s not just that judgments are handled by someone who is less scary and punitive than the university, but someone or a community who fundamentally has different values about problem solving and justice where they feel valued. 

I always share my own experience meeting with a writing center tutor in undergrad and offer extensions for students who use those resources so they have time to seek out help and incorporate feedback. I also encourage them to come to office hours so we can be thought partners on their work or in problem solving when things outside the class impact their ability to fully participate and stay on track. These strategies not only provide opportunities to build a relationship with me as their instructor, but seek out support and opportunities to connect with their campus community. As a final tool, I typically have a 24-48 hour, no questions asked extension policy that students can request, so long as they send me an email before the deadline. All these strategies allow me to be strategic with my time management as an instructor and create space for students to have a different relationship with their academic work. And when there are instances of plagiarism–many of which I’ve caught without AI software–I invite students to have a conversation so I can understand what happened and we can discuss whether corrective actions or additional supports are needed in order to restore the trust necessary to contribute to a thriving learning community. 

Abolitionist pedagogy can help us discover and remind us that, while materially distinct in important ways, our strategies of resistance to austerity, surveillance, and punishment are not only about ideological freedom and theories of solidarity, but also fundamentally connected to material freedoms and practicing community. So many students who have unknowingly or unwisely violated academic integrity policies have gone on to make meaningful contributions to class and produce outstanding work. Like Cassian’s organizing with rebels and prisoners, through building trust and understanding with our students and other educators, we are able to move closer to a world where the abolition university is possible.

Kristine Riley is a PhD candidate in Sociology and a Fellow at the Teaching and Learning Center.

[1] In recent years, the New York Times has profiled abolitionists, engaged in critiques of abolition, and published opinion pieces from abolitionist activists. See Livni, Ephrat. 2020. “How to Reimagine Policing and Public Safety That Works for Everyone.” The New York Times, December 17; Londoño, Ernesto. 2023. “How ‘Defund the Police’ Failed.” The New York Times, June 16; and Kaba, Mariame. 2020. “Yes, We Mean Literally Abolish the Police: Because Reform Won’t Happen.” The New York Times, June 12.

[2] For a discussion of the bureaucracy within universities and the university’s position within society’s bureaucracy, see Musselin, Christine. 2021. “University Governance in Meso and Macro Perspectives.” Annual Review of Sociology 47(Volume 47, 2021):305–25. doi: 10.1146/annurev-soc-090320-012708.

[3] Though the term can focus on relationships between peer educators or between educators and their students, generally, intentional learning communities achieve “the purpose of enacting knowledge, skills, and dispositions that are focused on increasing equity for students. A community that is committed to sharing knowledge across participants and the field to improve educator practice and educational outcomes”. See Adams, Susan R., and Angela Breidenstein. 2023. “Overcoming Barriers to Equity Through Intentional Learning Communities.” in Exploring Meaningful and Sustainable Intentional Learning Communities for P-20 Educators. Hershey, UNITED STATES: IGI Global.

[4] For descriptions of the Galactic Empire, Emperor Palpatine, and his rise to power, see Anon. 2024. “Galactic Empire (Star Wars).” Wikipedia; Anon. 2024. “Palpatine.” Wikipedia; and Anon. 2024. “Supreme Chancellor Election, 32 BBY.” Wookieepedia.

[5] For examples of investments in carceral surveillance and other technologies, see Ashworth, Boone. 2023. “The NYPD Brings Robot Dogs Back.” Wired, April 15; and Luna, Itzel. 2023. “NYC Subways Join Airports, Police in Using AI Surveillance. Privacy Experts Are Worried.” USA TODAY, July 26.

[6] For examples of police violence from the 2020 Uprisings, see Collins, Dave. 2023. “146 NYC Police Committed Misconduct in 2020 Protests: Report.” AP News, February 7; and Watkins, Ali. 2020. “‘Kettling’ of Peaceful Protesters Shows Aggressive Shift by N.Y. Police.” The New York Times, June 5. For examples of carceral violence against 2024 student protests, see Niarchos, Nicolas. 2024. “CUNY and Columbia: A Tale of Two Campuses.” May 16; Mansoor, Sanya. 2024. “Inside Columbia and City College’s Darkest Night.” TIME, May 1; and NYCLU. 2024. “NYCLU on Violent Crackdown of Pro-Palestine Protests at Columbia and City College.” Press Release. Retrieved November 26, 2024 (https://www.nyclu.org/press-release/nyclu-on-violent-crackdown-of-pro-palestine-protests-at-columbia-and-city-college).

[7] See Anti-Violence Project. 2020. “Safety Planning for Protests.” NYC Anti-Violence Project. Retrieved November 26, 2024 (https://avp.org/2020/06/28/safety-planning-for-protests/).

[8] For an introduction and overview of mutual aid, see Spade, Dean. 2020. Mutual Aid: Building Solidarity During This Crisis (and the Next). Verso Books.

[9] For a profile of New York City jail support, see Nathanson, Rebecca. 2020. “What to Know About Jail Support During Protests.” Teen Vogue, June 15. For an example of a court support campaign, see Cuny for Palestine, Students Together Against Racism, CUNY Law Dispatch, and CUNY Graduate Center for Palestine. 2024. “CUNY for Palestine on Instagram: “PACK THE COURTS FOR THE CUNY 28.” Instagram. Retrieved November 26, 2024 (https://www.instagram.com/p/C_0rOGLOo1w/). 

[10] For examples of CUNY colleges’ use of plagiarism detection software and policies, see Hostos College. 2024. “ENABLE THE PLAGIARISM DETECTION TOOL IN BRIGHTSPACE: Brightspace Guidelines for Faculty”; York College. 2024. “Using the Turnitin Tool.” Retrieved November 26, 2024 (https://www.york.cuny.edu/ctlet/lms-support/for-faculty/bbfaculty-old/using-the-turnitin-tool); CUNY. n.d. “CUNY Blackboard: SafeAssign”; Finder, Lisa. n.d. “LibGuides: AFPRL 21000 Introduction to Caribbean History 1900 to the Present: Turnitin (Plagiarism Prevention).” Retrieved November 26, 2024 (https://libguides.library.hunter.cuny.edu/AFPRL21000/turnitin); and CUNY. 2022. “Academic Integrity Policy – The City University of New York.” Retrieved November 26, 2024 (https://www.cuny.edu/about/administration/offices/legal-affairs/policies-resources/academic-integrity-policy/).

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