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Encuentros beyond Ethnography: Indigenizing Ethico-Methodologies in the Anthropology of Education

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Title: Encuentros beyond Ethnography: Indigenizing Ethico-Methodologies in the Anthropology of Education
Language: English
Authors: Keylin Figueroa, Juan Gomez, Desiree Rosas, Josh Somers, Megan Raschig (ORCID 0000-0002-2299-5198)
Source: Anthropology & Education Quarterly. 2025 56(2).
Availability: Wiley. Available from: John Wiley & Sons, Inc. 111 River Street, Hoboken, NJ 07030. Tel: 800-835-6770; e-mail: cs-journals@wiley.com; Web site: https://www.wiley.com/en-us
Peer Reviewed: Y
Page Count: 19
Publication Date: 2025
Document Type: Journal Articles
Reports - Research
Descriptors: Educational Anthropology, Educational Research, Research Methodology, Indigenous Populations, Hispanic American Students, Epistemology, Decolonization
DOI: 10.1111/aeq.70004
ISSN: 0161-7761
1548-1492
Abstract: Drawing on collaborative research with MILPA on their liberatory curriculum, Telpochcalli, this essay offers "encuentros" as a regenerative ethico-methodology in community-led and kinship-grounded anthropological research into Chicano Indigenous educational spaces. "Encuentros," encounters with others for relationship-building and mutual learning, renew and expand existing relational knowledge. If an anthropology of education is concerned with epistemology and decolonization, we should approach "how" we study Indigenized educational projects with care and creativity.
Abstractor: As Provided
Entry Date: 2025
Accession Number: EJ1471557
Database: ERIC
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  Value: <anid>AN0185257170;aeq01jun.25;2025May21.05:11;v2.2.500</anid> <title id="AN0185257170-1">Encuentros beyond ethnography: Indigenizing ethico‐methodologies in the anthropology of education </title> <p>Drawing on collaborative research with MILPA on their liberatory curriculum, Telpochcalli, this essay offers "encuentros" as a regenerative ethico‐methodology in community‐led and kinship‐grounded anthropological research into Chicano Indigenous educational spaces. Encuentros, encounters with others for relationship‐building and mutual learning, renew and expand existing relational knowledge. If an anthropology of education is concerned with epistemology and decolonization, we should approach how we study Indigenized educational projects with care and creativity.</p> <p>Keywords: community‐based collaboration; healing; Indigenized research; kinship; liberatory education</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-2">BUILDING RELATIONS, BUILDING KNOWLEDGE</hd> <p>Megan scanned the steady stream of trucks for Josh's car, standing at Arrivals just outside the San Antonio Airport in the humid evening air. She and Desiree were coordinating on the phone, with Desiree in Josh's passenger seat, having arrived a few hours earlier. Desiree and Megan had made the journey to Texas midway through a collaborative research project that focused on documenting participant experiences in the Telpochcalli curriculum, developed by MILPA and based in California.</p> <p>Let's pause this scene to establish <emph>conocimiento</emph>, or knowledge of each other: The name Telpochcalli is derived from a Nahuatl term that describes the learning processes of <emph>educación</emph> or moral character development, translating to "House of Youth." MILPA Collective (MILPA) is a movement space designed for, and led by, formerly incarcerated and system‐impacted individuals. MILPA developed the Telpochcalli curriculum to implement a healing‐informed youth development modality rooted in social justice, to be run in cohorts in their communities. Telpochcalli participants are equipped with tools to self‐actualize and become healthy and thriving members of their community, through intergenerational affirmation, connection, and <emph>cariño</emph>. Desiree is a program and leadership coordinator who has worked at MILPA since 2019, and Megan is an associate professor at Sacramento State University who has worked with MILPA since 2013. MILPA is committed to supporting next‐generation infrastructure, leadership, and indigenous kinship. Their practices and advocacy center cultural healing, racial equity, and being a good relative. Now, back to Arrivals.</p> <p>Desiree and Megan had flown to San Antonio to support American Indians in Texas–Spanish Colonial Missions (AIT‐SCM), a non‐profit organization celebrating the grand opening of their prominent new building complex, befitting their important role in the city. More than a "visit," we framed this as an <emph>encuentro</emph>, using the Spanish word for "encounter" to describe traveling to, learning from, and regenerating relationships with those considered kin. We had built a few of these <emph>encuentros</emph> with Chicano and Indigenous organizations doing public education into our grant budget, as part of a research project co‐designed to integrate MILPA ethical and epistemological frameworks with anthropological inquiry. We had several interrelated goals for this short and busy trip: to celebrate AIT‐SCM, honoring their endurance and growth; to learn about how AIT‐SCM provides cultural learning and education to various publics, while sharing our experiences with both facilitating Telpochcalli and researching youth experiences; and fundamentally, to thicken ongoing kinship ties between organizations, staff, and researchers. We were grateful to have Josh as our host, Data & Programs Manager with MILPA who is based in San Antonio, and a member of the Tāp Pīlam Coahuiltecan Nation with family ties to AIT‐SCM (Image 1).</p> <p> <img src="https://imageserver.ebscohost.com/img/embimages/rdk/AEQ/01jun25/aeq70004-fig-0001.jpg?ephost1=dGJyMNXb4kSepq84yOvqOLCmsE6epq5Srqa4SK6WxWXS" alt="aeq70004-fig-0001.jpg" title="1 Walking down the street: Josh Somers and Megan Raschig walking to the American Indians in Texas–Spanish Colonial Missions (AIT‐SCM) celebration with pride and joy. Photo by Desiree Rosas." /> </p> <p></p> <p>Throughout this essay, we reflect on <emph>encuentros</emph> as a regenerative methodology in collaborative and kinship‐grounded anthropological research into Indigenized educational spaces. Over years of collaboration between MILPA and Megan, we have integrated <emph>encuentros</emph> and other Chicano Indigenous ethical norms and epistemological approaches into our research toolkit, which further includes semi‐structured interviews and story‐carrying, a framework through which stories, once told, become "carried" by the research team, who are entreated to carry them with care, accountability, and respect for the relations they mediate (Riley‐Mukavetz, [<reflink idref="bib23" id="ref1">23</reflink>]). We further utilize <emph>flor</emph> y canto, an ancestral process and Chicano aesthetic practice that infuses a hodgepodge of creative details and ideas in our thinking and writing. In programming and research, MILPA acknowledges, pays homage and has been inspired by the innovative educational offerings that were first presented to Chicano Indigenous <emph>raza</emph> (people) in the late 70s and early 80s in the Bay Area by Elders like Samuel "Samuelin" Martinez and Maestro Roberto Vargas, known as Razalogia. "Like other learning approaches known as 'transformative knowing,' 'liberation education,' 'communal learning,' 'democratic education,' and 'participatory research,'" Razalogia "embraces a vision–the actualization of our human potential toward creating a society of equity and respect" (Vargas & Martinez, [<reflink idref="bib29" id="ref2">29</reflink>], p. vii).</p> <p>In addition to centering Chicano Indigenous research approaches driven by the re‐membering of ancestral practices and ethics (Gonzales, [<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref3">13</reflink>]) and building relational accountability (Wilson, [<reflink idref="bib31" id="ref4">31</reflink>]), our project is informed by abolitionist epistemologies that seek to dismantle the carceral logics and structures that shape several aspects of our lives, including our pedagogies (Kaba, [<reflink idref="bib17" id="ref5">17</reflink>]; Love, [<reflink idref="bib19" id="ref6">19</reflink>]; Shange, [<reflink idref="bib25" id="ref7">25</reflink>]). We heed the call of scholar‐activists like Mariame Kaba to "get into different relation" ([<reflink idref="bib17" id="ref8">17</reflink>], p. 4) and cultivate alternative ways of relating to each other. As such, our research is fully grounded in relationships with ancestors and contemporaries, both in object and in method. We seek to understand the learning conditions through which certain knowledge becomes transformative, noticing how many Telpochcalli participants apply the curriculum's teachings to counter the colonial and carceral logics they have been subjected to in myriad facets of their lives, but especially in public schools (Gomez et al., [<reflink idref="bib12" id="ref9">12</reflink>]; Sojoyner, [<reflink idref="bib27" id="ref10">27</reflink>]). Relationships among participants and facilitators in Telpochcalli are cultivated through a horizontal pedagogical ethos of sharing and listening to perspectives based in their own realities and histories, generating a sense of trust, care, and even love. Also called "becoming a good relative," this is the foundation for participants' transformation—realizing themselves and each other to be capable and wise, their knowledge to matter, and their capacity to make change in their communities is encouraged (Villa et al., [<reflink idref="bib30" id="ref11">30</reflink>]).</p> <p>In this paper and our work more broadly, we ask, what is the role of such relational epistemic practices in movement‐building and world‐making efforts in communities concerned with their own intergenerational healing and empowerment? And how do we cultivate research methods and sensibilities that embrace grassroots approaches like <emph>Razalogia</emph> and enact intergenerational and Indigenized relational epistemologies? These questions represent our efforts to align the integrity of our research with the project we study and the social movement we forward. We situate this inquiry as part of an "otherwise anthropological" engagement that seeks to not only study an "otherwise" project, but to align with it in ethical research relation and perhaps thereby transform disciplinary ethico‐methodological norms (McTighe & Raschig, [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref12">21</reflink>]). As we learn how Telpochcalli opens new ways of relating and knowing for participants, we reverberate these principles into the workings of our research, leaning into opportunities like <emph>encuentros</emph> while considering how they differ from conventional ethnographic ways of knowing.</p> <p>In what follows, we argue first for the necessity of developing liberatory ethico‐methodological approaches in the anthropology of education in partnership with historically marginalized communities. From there, we tap into a set of moments during our <emph>encuentro</emph> in San Antonio in which we felt we learned something about how knowledge, culture, tradition, and kinship are intertwined and enacted in intergenerational Chicano Indigenous spaces, sustaining a form of reciprocal learning. We then connect these moments with our research on Telpochcalli, while emphasizing that this process is not to be taken as directly extractive "data collection." We thus offer the <emph>encuentro</emph> as an ethico‐methodological practice that exceeds the research itself while informing and nourishing it in important ways—ways that can be understood as decolonizing and anti‐carceral, or in terms we find more resonant, intergenerational and healing.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-4">LIBERATORY, INTERGENERATIONAL, AND COMMUNITY‐LED RESEARCH IN EDUCATION</hd> <p>"Decolonization" has been perhaps the most durative, ongoing conversation and set of efforts in anthropology since "the decolonizing generation" took root in the discipline from the 1970s onward (Allen & Jobson, [<reflink idref="bib2" id="ref13">2</reflink>]; Bolles, [<reflink idref="bib5" id="ref14">5</reflink>]; Harrison, [<reflink idref="bib15" id="ref15">15</reflink>]). Mindful and respectful of that history, we note that staff at MILPA instead utilize language that reaffirms the Collective's Indigeneity, intergenerationality, and cultural futures. A focus on reparative, forward‐moving processes of Indigenization and rematriation decenters and displaces colonization and Whiteness; it emphasizes building. We align with abolitionist efforts, including the growing branch of abolitionist anthropology, which similarly explore world‐building praxis as a means of dismantling the logics and institutions of carcerality and captivity that are rooted in colonial expansion and continue to undergird American life (Ciribassi, [<reflink idref="bib7" id="ref16">7</reflink>]; Hernández, [<reflink idref="bib16" id="ref17">16</reflink>]; Shanahan & Kurti, [<reflink idref="bib24" id="ref18">24</reflink>]). Braiding these efforts, in this essay we also use the term <emph>liberatory</emph>, to indicate a process of dismantling the social and epistemological structures that uphold Whiteness, carcerality, and other forms of oppression (sexism, heteronormativity, etc.) through opening alternative ways of knowing and being in the world. We are inspired by the <emph>resurgence</emph> of which Leanne Betasamosake Simpson writes: projects and praxes that center Indigenous ways of knowing and relating, aimed at flourishing, and which skirt, refract, ignore, or defy settler norms and systems ([<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref19">4</reflink>]).</p> <p>Education is a rich site for the work of resurgence. It remains a realm of what Ali Abdi might call "dangerously benign, actually banal" colonialism (Abdi, [<reflink idref="bib1" id="ref20">1</reflink>], p. 2), where pedagogy, learning outcomes, and climate are shaped by Euro‐American epistemologies and values, becoming cudgels to maintain these and other forms of White supremacy (Smith et al., [<reflink idref="bib26" id="ref21">26</reflink>]; Tuck & Yang, [<reflink idref="bib28" id="ref22">28</reflink>]). Not‐so‐distant histories of residential or boarding schools in the United States and Canada, where Indigenous children were forcibly sent to assimilate to White settler conventions and religious beliefs, stand as an extreme example of the attempted cultural and physical genocide that can and has occurred in spaces with supposedly benevolent educational intentions. But even today, students of color in the United States experience forms of degradation and diminishment in their schools, which, as key sites in the school–prison nexus (Goldman & Rodriguez, [<reflink idref="bib11" id="ref23">11</reflink>]), rely on logics and technologies of surveillance, control, and punishment disproportionately used on students of color. Here, colonial legacies and carceral logics intersect and intensify: the mode and content of knowing is silently guided by White normative standards and Euro‐American pedagogical philosophies (Ladson‐Billings, [<reflink idref="bib18" id="ref24">18</reflink>]), and materially enforced by the literal policing of bodies and behaviors seen as deviating from these norms through integration of law enforcement on public school campuses and other connections with carceral systems (Sojoyner, [<reflink idref="bib27" id="ref25">27</reflink>]).</p> <p>Spaces of educational resistance and refuge have also always existed. We honor the liberatory educational spaces created by Black, Latinx, and Indigenous communities as forms of survivance and resistance (Davis et al., [<reflink idref="bib9" id="ref26">9</reflink>]; Degollado et al., [<reflink idref="bib10" id="ref27">10</reflink>]; Smith et al., [<reflink idref="bib26" id="ref28">26</reflink>]), such as the <emph>escuelitas</emph> (little schools) in the Southwest, which provided Spanish‐language education and other forms of strategic resistance to Mexican American youth facing segregation and anti‐Spanish language policies in their public schools. Aligned with these grassroots spaces, Telpochcalli imparts alternative ways of knowing oneself and the world, where youth can realize themselves and each other as the incredible beings they are: inheritors of generations of resistance and survival, future‐makers in their communities. As a curriculum run after school in community spaces, Telpochcalli offers an expansive structure to impart understanding and skills that would fuel participants' empowerment, growth, and engagement in their families and communities while fostering a closer relationship with their own cultural heritage as an affirmative and healing resource.</p> <p>We argue for the necessity of an Indigenized and intergenerational approach to any collaborative research with Indigenous communities, broadly speaking, but given these histories of the role of education in attempted assimilation and the ongoing realities of the school–prison nexus, we recognize the particular importance of such approaches in an anthropology of education. If, at its core, an anthropology of education is concerned with epistemology, and its practitioners take seriously the work of decolonization, abolition, or other liberatory processes, anthropologists should not only study spaces like Telpochcalli but also be careful and creative in <emph>how</emph> we do so. We must bracket our own epistemological assumptions about how we know.</p> <p>While the moments of <emph>encuentro</emph> in this essay may feel ethnographic, and their narration borrows ethnographic conventions, it is further important to differentiate the <emph>encuentro</emph> from participant observation, the core ethnographic method that stands as a foundation of cultural anthropological knowledge production. Although Megan was much more accustomed to conducting participant observation, our team developed this project in the thick of the pandemic, when in‐person research was not possible. As the pandemic subsided and Telpochcalli moved back in person, we continued to conduct most of our team meetings and interviews with participants online, in addition to organizing these <emph>encuentros</emph>. Noticing both her urge to conduct ethnography and the dynamics of a collaborative project grounded in Chicano Indigenous relationality and epistemology, Megan began to question the privileged status that immersive participant observation continues to be afforded in anthropology (Borneman & Hammoudi, [<reflink idref="bib6" id="ref29">6</reflink>]; Günel & Watanabe, [<reflink idref="bib14" id="ref30">14</reflink>]); could the outsider anthropologist really observe or detect anything more true than what Desiree (a Telpochcalli facilitator and researcher) and the youth participants shared through their stories, or the powerful if parallel insights and relationships built through our visits with other organizations? We began to ask ourselves, what was the place of the <emph>encuentro</emph> in our research methodology? <emph>Encuentros</emph> had been a constant feature of MILPA's movement‐building work for the decade Megan had known and worked alongside staff of this organization, but we had yet to articulate how this was part of an intentional epistemological strategy.</p> <p>Alongside bracketing anthropological research norms and ways of knowing, we argue for the importance of actively supporting intergenerational educational spaces through equitable collaboration and community‐driven research that answers questions and builds capacity of those on the ground doing this critical work. Like others, we as coauthors and collaborators affirm the importance of research that not only studies but <emph>actively contributes to</emph> liberatory efforts, and see this as an ongoing process grounded in our relationships, accountability, and ancestral linkages (McGregor & Marker, [<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref31">20</reflink>]; McTighe & Raschig, [<reflink idref="bib21" id="ref32">21</reflink>]; Wilson, [<reflink idref="bib31" id="ref33">31</reflink>]). As McGregor and Marker write, decolonizing research may be understood as "the sensing and witnessing of a path through dense spaces; let it be a path that is more creative and more intimate than the paths laid out before" ([<reflink idref="bib20" id="ref34">20</reflink>], p. 17). They underscore that the ways of doing decolonizing/liberatory anthropological research in education are situated within the intimacies of particular relations and histories and, thus, bound to be manifold. The <emph>encuentro</emph> is just one example of how such decolonizing research might look, and it may not be appropriate to extract it from this context to apply to another inquiry.</p> <p>Finally, we consider it important to identify key aspects of the <emph>encuentro</emph> that, from the outset, differentiate it from standard anthropological praxis of participant observation: <emph>Encuentros</emph> are inherently collaborative, and they do not directly result in data collection, though they inform our interpretations by offering an embodied experience in the same principles of regenerative kinship and transformative learning. Though the vignettes that follow may <emph>feel</emph> ethnographic in their thick descriptive detail, through them we also articulate where and how they bring us into contact with an alternative framework for engagement, participating and observing/sensing, sharing space, and diverse epistemological practices. <emph>Encuentros</emph>, building from and on relationships that vastly exceed the research itself, involve <emph>being somewhere together</emph>, if not "being there" in what would be considered a conventional anthropological field site and "making truth" from the scholar's privileged vantage point (Borneman & Hammoudi, [<reflink idref="bib6" id="ref35">6</reflink>]).</p> <p>To echo Gloria Anzaldúa ([<reflink idref="bib3" id="ref36">3</reflink>], p. 117) in her articulation of <emph>conocimiento</emph>, a richly layered relational onto‐epistemology: "<emph>Now let us shift..."</emph> back to San Antonio to offer a series of moments from this <emph>encuentro</emph> that we found (re)generative.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-5">Taking care of the folks</hd> <p>Megan had not realized Desiree and Josh were going to pick her up from the airport in San Antonio—she assumed she would get an Uber to their Airbnb. But "at MILPA, we do things like family," Desiree reminded her as she hopped into the back seat. "We gotta take care of the folks!" This, we realized later, was the same modality that prevailed in Telpochcalli cohorts—a sense of care and kinship relation that precedes and scaffolds any "work" or "learning" as such. It also reflected a basic <emph>dicho</emph> (teaching) imparted by Mexican American parents—<emph>no seas maleducado</emph>. Literally, this means "don't be poorly educated," but in practice, this <emph>dicho</emph>'s meaning varies depending on the place and time but often it follows basic tenets such as do not be rude, egotistical, or unwelcoming of others. <emph>Educación</emph> in this context does not index "school" but a way of life and set of practices that keep communities safe, nurtured and uplifted. In Caló, or Chicano argot, this is expressed by the exclamation <emph>¡chócala!</emph>, where a high five crystallizes this commitment to relational care.</p> <p>Megan and Josh greeted each other from across the car—meeting for the first time, though already embedded in relation by association. We took off to find somewhere to eat at 9 p.m. Texas time. Megan eased into the back seat, finally where she was supposed to be. While Desiree and Josh chatted in the front seat, she reflected on the solo journey to San Antonio, her first flight without her young kids, and the trepidation she had felt alone on the aircraft. Her flights had been delayed—she was not going to make her connection—and it felt like divine intervention that somehow these problems got solved and there she was. The warmth of her pickup reassured her she had made the right choice to fly out, a feeling confirmed somehow by the crescent moon hanging in the sky directly above Venus, staying steady next to the passenger window much of the way. It was an auspicious alignment for understanding yet to come.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-6">Blessed origins</hd> <p>We found a taco stand and sat at a picnic table while awaiting our orders. Josh noted that it was something of a rite of passage for MILPA folks to come visit him and AIT‐SCM when Juan, our other research collaborator and the founder and director of MILPA, felt they were ready for it; travel and relationship‐building were major parts of the collective's praxis of growth and community transformation. Before the founding of MILPA, Juan had come to San Antonio to pray on the Tāp Pīlam (People of this Earth) land for the continued encouragement to forge ahead with the vision that became this unique and impactful community organization. Josh noted that they believe a big part of both MILPA and AIT‐SCM's success comes from that grounded, ceremonial origin. Famished from our flights and now scarfing quesabirria tacos, Desiree and Megan nodded in agreement. This sacred context and the warm evening breeze held a sense of possibility for what could or would grow from our visit.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-7">Presence</hd> <p>We got an early start the next morning. Josh wanted to take us for breakfast before the day's main event—the grand opening of AIT‐SCM's new building complex. An all‐day open house would transition in the evening into a celebration to honor his grandfather, Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez (1940–2023), who was the Tema (headsman) of the Auteca Paguame (Waterbird) clan and one of the original five families of Tāp Pīlam, as well as a co‐founder of the organization, lifelong civil rights activist, and renowned visual artist. Josh was dressed sharply and wearing a mescal bean necklace he had sourced and crafted himself from local trees. We merged back onto one of San Antonio's many freeways to end up at another taco spot, known for its fluffy handmade flour tortillas. Seated in a booth, Josh told us about how his Tāp Pīlam ancestors built and resided at the Misión Valero, known now as The Alamo, a site that has been intensely glorified and whitewashed in Texas colonial history. "We found ways to survive and thrive," he told us, and his father's generation had fought hard for recognition for their supposedly "extinct" tribe. His grandfather, father, and others had formed AIT‐SCM in part to be eligible to have their ancestors' remains repatriated from this and the other four missions in the region, and in some cases had been able to hold and care for the remains of these deceased relatives. One of their several roles in San Antonio was providing Mission tours to the public from a critical Tāp Pīlam perspective.</p> <p>Pausing periodically to note the perfect texture of the flour tortillas, Josh continued to work through a history of the Texas Rangers and several local missions. He emphasized the fact that there are no <emph>federally recognized</emph> tribes whose creation stories or origins are from (what is now called) Texas. He mentioned cultural, spiritual, and social customs which his ancestors practiced in order to ensure their next seven generations would survive. He shared how, despite being an established organization, AIT‐SCM still faces significant, potentially violent challenges in holding ceremonial traditions to honor the relatives that have been exhumed or remain buried at several missions in the area.</p> <p>As Josh spoke, Megan crystallized an understanding of how <emph>federal</emph> recognition was one thing, and <emph>local</emph> visibility and presence were another—that it was critical they have a prominent presence in the city when they had been under such intense and sustained tribal and cultural erasure. This felt very different from the conditions on the Central Coast of California, where MILPA had worked to build Mexican American or Chicano youths' connections with their ancestry, often obscured or denigrated through histories of displacement, culture erasure, and discrimination. There, with a group of people of mixed southwestern Indigenous ancestries, the purpose of their educational programming was more inward and relational than outward and public, concerned with resurgence more prominently than recognition (Betasamosake Simpson, [<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref37">4</reflink>]; Coulthard, [<reflink idref="bib8" id="ref38">8</reflink>]) (Image 2).</p> <p> <img src="https://imageserver.ebscohost.com/img/embimages/rdk/AEQ/01jun25/aeq70004-fig-0002.jpg?ephost1=dGJyMNXb4kSepq84yOvqOLCmsE6epq5Srqa4SK6WxWXS" alt="aeq70004-fig-0002.jpg" title="2 A wall of Life: A wall with eight individual photographs of all the Tribal Elders and Temas (Chiefs) of Tāp Pīlam, Founders of American Indians in Texas‐Spanish Colonial Missions (AIT‐SCM). Photo by Desiree Rosas." /> </p> <p></p> <hd id="AN0185257170-9">Eagles</hd> <p>After breakfast, Josh took a detour to the west side, a historically working‐class Tejano neighborhood, for an informal mural tour. We stopped to get out at La Veladora, a "ceramic mural" facing Guadalupe Street in the shape of a giant devotional candle with La Virgen, beatific, in her iconic pose. As a light, warm rain began to fall, we marveled at the mural's scale and beauty, and Desiree pointed out the eagle and <emph>nopales</emph> (cactus paddles) that formed its backdrop. She and Josh began sharing their <emph>dichos</emph> and teachings about eagles, drawing on Indigenous, intergenerational ways of knowing to highlight their symbolic significance as messengers to the Creator and symbols of courage and vision. They explained how these teachings are integrated into their facilitation of healing‐informed curricula, like Sembrando la MILPA and Telpochcalli, highlighting the importance of borrowing from each other's traditions. Listening, Megan thought about how these curricula made so much space for different understandings and how their facilitators were themselves constantly learning and refining their teachings while, as Desiree later pointed out, honoring the wisdom of their ancestors (Image 3).</p> <p> <img src="https://imageserver.ebscohost.com/img/embimages/rdk/AEQ/01jun25/aeq70004-fig-0003.jpg?ephost1=dGJyMNXb4kSepq84yOvqOLCmsE6epq5Srqa4SK6WxWXS" alt="aeq70004-fig-0003.jpg" title="3 "La Veladora of Our Lady of Guadalupe" by San Antonio artist Jesse Treviño is a ceramic mural including a three‐dimensional votive candle, or veladora, with an eternal flame facing Guadalupe Street. The flame is intended to serve as a neighborhood beacon. Photo by Megan Raschig." /> </p> <p></p> <hd id="AN0185257170-11">Butterflies</hd> <p>Next stop was the grand opening of AIT‐SCM's new complex, four buildings that comprised community programming space, an art gallery, an archive, and staff offices. The morning rain had subsided but most of the crowd was still under tall white tents streetside, listening to the lineup of esteemed speakers. To officially open the new complex, drumming and a prayer rang out as a red cloth with beaded fringe was slowly pulled up to reveal the AIT‐SCM logo on the largest building. A butterfly fluttered by at just that moment, to Desiree's astonishment; this was not a coincidence. She considered it a very beautiful and very symbolic moment that spoke to AIT‐SCM's journey, what they had been through and where they are now, "becoming that butterfly in their community, that bright, colorful thing that's going to help all those people they help," as she phrased it (Video 1).</p> <p>1 VIDEO AIT‐SCM Unveiling New Logo. Video by Desiree Rosas. Video 1 transcript: As their logo is unveiled on AIT‐SCM's new building, a butterfly flutters by with auspicious timing. Video content can be viewed at https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/aeq.70004</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-12">Remember (who built) the Alamo (Misión Valero)</hd> <p>Taking a break from the opening, Josh ferried us over to the River Walk in downtown San Antonio to see Misión Valero, as he and others of the Tāp Pīlam nation preferred to call it—an important counternarrative of ongoing presence and resistance. Approaching the square, Josh grazed his hands along the brick fence, reminding us that his ancestors built this structure and other features on its grounds, discreetly embedding tribal symbolism into its layout. This subtle, haptic act of memorialization and ongoing kinship stood in stark contrast to the giant alabaster monument erected to the White Texans who died at the Alamo, which we encountered just around the corner. <emph>Remember the Alamo</emph>, they say, but <emph>forget those who built it</emph>, under duress, for fear of their lives and descendants' futures. Holding Mission tours is one of the many things that the Tāp Pīlam Nation do to make their ongoing presence known, intervening on patriotic, violently defended Alamo narratives. But this quietly subversive, ongoing connection to their ancestors anchored in this venerated structure further put the importance of AIT‐SCM's bold, new, and prominent building into perspective and underscored many ways they insist on providing a counter‐narrative to the hegemonic history of the city.</p> <p>Megan bought an Alamo magnet from a tourist shop on the River Walk to remind her of its other name, Misión Valero. She would teach this true name and deeper history to her children, extending her sense of kinship with Josh and his ancestors and establishing a new intergenerational tradition in her family.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-13">Family status</hd> <p>After the River Walk and a little rest, Desiree and Megan got themselves ready for the evening festivities. Josh was back at AIT‐SCM helping to set up the food and stage. The heat of the day was beginning to subside as folks filled plates at the dinner buffet, bees buzzing around the bountiful bowls of fruit. Josh's grandfather, Tema (chief) Ramon Vasquez y Sanchez, was honored, with a 40‐year retrospective of his work forming the first show at AIT‐SCM's new art gallery space. It was a special moment, where he could see the strong and growing community presence that he helped build. This was the last time Tema Ramon was outside, passing a few weeks later (Images 4 and 5).</p> <p> <img src="https://imageserver.ebscohost.com/img/embimages/rdk/AEQ/01jun25/aeq70004-fig-0004.jpg?ephost1=dGJyMNXb4kSepq84yOvqOLCmsE6epq5Srqa4SK6WxWXS" alt="aeq70004-fig-0004.jpg" title="4 El Cuadro del Abuelo: Josh Somers stood proudly with the self‐portrait painting that his late grandfather Ramon Vaquez y Sanchez created for the art exhibit. Photo by Desiree Rosas." /> </p> <p></p> <p> <img src="https://imageserver.ebscohost.com/img/embimages/rdk/AEQ/01jun25/aeq70004-fig-0005.jpg?ephost1=dGJyMNXb4kSepq84yOvqOLCmsE6epq5Srqa4SK6WxWXS" alt="aeq70004-fig-0005.jpg" title="5 La Pintura: A photo of a painting that Ramon Vaquez y Sanchez created for the art exhibit. Photo by Desiree Rosas." /> </p> <p></p> <p>Desiree and Megan sat watching families and friends dance to the live band's cumbias and salsas, an elderly couple with all the moves, and children jumping up and down. Desiree met an AIT‐SCM collaborator for the first time in person, and Megan ran into a friend from her doctoral research in Salinas in 2014. Were these coincidences or affirmations of full‐circle relations and the promising purposes for our presence in San Antonio? We felt blessed to have been able to be there and mused about what it all meant for our Telpochcalli project, as the crescent moon rose again with Venus just below.</p> <p>Later, thinking about the good family vibes of the party, Josh reflected on how their tribal identity as Tāp Pīlam was strong through their lineage and across generations. This was unlike many involved with MILPA who were breaking intergenerational cycles of displacement from, dispossession of, and discrimination against their ancestries from a variety of Indigenous groups in what is now Mexico. In California, those who were re‐membering and lifting up their Indigeneity, in a process of cultural healing (Raschig, [<reflink idref="bib22" id="ref39">22</reflink>], pp. 11–12), would never get to participate in ceremonies with their parents, who tended to be Catholic or Christian. However, many affiliated with MILPA were bringing <emph>their</emph> kids to ceremony now, creating new intergenerational kinship ties and practices (Video 2).</p> <p>2 VIDEO Moonrise over pachanga. Video by Megan Raschig. Video 2 transcript: The pachanga (party) component of the event gets underway beneath an impressive sliver moon. Video content can be viewed at https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/10.1111/aeq.70004</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-16">World‐making</hd> <p>The next morning, after yet another set of fluffy tacos for breakfast, Josh took us to the airport to catch our flights home. On the way there, we chatted about the ardent conservatism of Texas politics and how different things felt in California. As an advocate and activist in his community, Josh was doing critical world‐making every day; he had not yet won back his right to vote due to laws that disenfranchised people who had been impacted by carceral systems, but that was hardly the only way to participate actively and effectively in a social movement. Desiree reflected on her own experiences with these legalities in California. Megan added that she could not vote either, as a "resident alien" Canadian waiting for her Green Card. Though we were all locked out of that democratic practice, we were each engaged in other efforts to directly refuse, reframe, and rework the inequities around us. We hugged, and Desiree went to catch her flight to San Jose, while Megan waited for her flight to Sacramento and wrote up notes and reflections from the trip.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-17">Bonus moment: "Work trip?"</hd> <p>Days later, at their kids' soccer game, a friend asked Megan, "how was your work trip?"</p> <p>"Ahhh..." she replied, still in her feelings about the whirlwind <emph>encuentro</emph>. "It was–amazing!" She struggled in the moment to articulate that this was not "work" in the sense implied—neither a string of meetings nor yet another conference. She had been welcomed and accepted as a sister, not simply tagging along or tenuously included as a researcher. It was more like a family reunion that was also a profoundly compelling way of knowing.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-18">CONNECTING THIS ENCUENTRO TO TELPOCHCALLI</hd> <p>An <emph>encuentro</emph> is an encounter with others to offer respect, learn from each other, and build relationships. Borrowed and explored as a collaborative ethico‐methodological practice, it is not driven by an agenda, data, or deliverables, but by openness, mutuality, and shared experience. We describe it as "regenerative" because while it can generate new understandings, it importantly renews, deepens and expands existing relationships and knowledge. It is a practice of kinship and care. And, importantly, the <emph>encuentro</emph> in San Antonio was a formative experience for Desiree and Megan to have more space to build our own friendship, building <emph>conocimiento</emph> not only with Josh and AIT‐SCM but with each other—and eat some very good food (mainly tacos, as the reader may have noticed). Making this space for connection and joy as part of our research is aligned with Telpochcalli's approach to imparting liberatory understandings and relationships. "Be yourself, laugh, joke, eat. That's exactly what Telpochcalli is, too, except you're also learning something in the process," as Desiree puts it. This is the MILPA mode, which we have aimed to reproduce in the collaborative research process.</p> <p>In our attempts to understand what and how we learned from this <emph>encuentro</emph> in San Antonio, Desiree and Megan had a dedicated conversation about a month after our return to reflect on our key moments and takeaways, which we recorded, transcribed, and used for further analysis and writing up. We wanted this understanding to emerge dialogically rather than through individual written notes or reflections. Later, after Megan wrote a first draft, we worked through several drafts and peer reviews together with Josh, Juan, and Keylin, weaving further insights into our understandings of the auspicious butterfly flight; Josh's fingertips skimming the work of his ancestors; the family‐style care and joy from airport pick‐up to the AIT‐SCM dance floor; the organization's presence as Tāp Pīlam survivance; the privilege to honor Tema Ramon; the moon aligned just so...</p> <p>These moments and our interpretations of this <emph>encuentro</emph> resonated with and clarified what many of our young interlocutors shared in interviews: that through Telpochcalli, they were encouraged to engage meaningfully with each other and their ancestors. From this foundation of (re)generated kinship, Telpochcalli made space for them to feel capable in themselves, opening them to new relations, revelations, and commitments. This learning became transformative in how it was felt to repair or heal some of the damage suffered by their isolating and marginalizing experiences in schools.</p> <p>A clear example of these processes of regenerated kinship and transformative learning is evident in N.M.'s story. N.M. is a young man in his early 20s who lives in the Salinas Valley and works day and night in construction and agriculture. We often think of his story as among the "weightiest" we carry, leaving an impression on us and compelling us to understand its scope in detail. We turn to his story next, asking readers to hold it <emph>alongside</emph> our discussion of <emph>encuentros</emph> as an ethico‐methodological practice that informs our research on Telpochcalli as a liberatory educational project, rather than trying to draw lines <emph>directly</emph> between our moments in San Antonio and his disclosures. We point out throughout his story where the principles and feelings are aligned, demonstrating how relational knowledge and intergenerational ties can become transformative in both Telpochcalli and our research.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-19">ROCKING TWO BRAIDS</hd> <p>N.M. was part of an early Telpochcalli cohort in 2019/2020 with Desiree. He has remained in relation to her and MILPA despite his demanding work schedule, often attending community circles that build resident power and solidarity in contesting city planning and budgeting. When Megan interviewed N.M. in 2021, he was nervous: he wanted to represent MILPA well, as he stated. However, in this unusual "interview" situation with a university professor he had never met, he was likely still carrying forward his own historical experiences with educators and a school system that made him feel consistently inadequate.</p> <p>At 21, N.M. was a bit older than most Telpochcalli participants, who were typically in high school. He had been impacted by carceral systems for much of his youth, and in his post‐high school life, he seemed to be seeking a place or community where he could belong and expand himself. He was humble and soft‐spoken, quietly embracing cultural healing, seeking to grow into a noble man, grateful for the support he was finding at MILPA.</p> <p>As Megan worked through the semi‐structured set of questions we asked each participant, N.M. detailed his experience in high school, with a resentment expressed in reservation and choice words. He characterized his formal education outright as "a waste of time." He had been put into special education classes, which he felt to be inappropriate for him. In these classes, "right off the bat, I was being taught this elementary stuff, and I'm like, you know what, <emph>I'm not smart enough</emph>, you know?" He repeated this feeling of not being "smart enough" several times. "I took nothing with me" from school, he said, frustrated at how he was retaught the same things over and over.</p> <p>N.M.'s negative experiences at school were intensified by the presence of a School Resource Officer (SRO), who are uniformed police stationed at schools with the ostensible purpose of keeping students safe. When he was 16, the SRO arrested him on campus for something he allegedly did outside of school. Like many other Telpochcalli participants, he told us that "having the SRO [at school] didn't make me feel safe. It didn't make me feel... anything. It made me feel even worse." While the SRO had postured as a counselor, N.M. felt and was surveilled. "I felt like something, someone was there to watch us, ready to take us to jail." It was an edgy environment, clearly not conducive to learning or growth.</p> <p>By contrast, he found that being in Telpochcalli was a "really beautiful healing experience." One hallmark of Telpochcalli's pedagogy is that all participants and facilitators sit in circle and share their perspectives. Power is shared as all contribute in the shared production of insight and understanding. Being in circle is often directly compared by our interviewees with being in a classroom, oriented to a single teacher, with the expectation of staying quiet and still, and remembering what is said. Instead, in Telpochcalli, there is space for all participants to get comfortable disclosing their experiences, directly contributing to what all are learning. Having time to build relationships is the foundation for developing meaningful, actual understandings in this space, which can dismantle the damaging ways of knowing that participants acquired in schools. With time, as participants in N.M.'s Telpochcalli cohort "started to get to know each other, we were able to actually speak how we felt. And then like, everyone would just be listening and like, it's like, they cared, you know? It was cool." Connecting listening and being listened to as acts of care, N.M. was undoing some of the sense of diminishment and belittling experienced in his special education classes. "Since I joined Telpochcalli, I'm like, you know what, like, actually I am my own person, I'm unique. I'm able to give my own perspective, how I feel."</p> <p>He also found healing in learning about and connecting with his Indigenous ancestors. The MILPA approach to cultural healing is articulated in Patrisia Gonzales' "re‐membering" and "reframing" of Indigenous and ancestral cultural practices, knowledge and relations that are already present in majority Mexican American and <emph>Mexicano</emph> populations, who have inherited "body memory of ancestral knowledge" that forms part of their "general cultural competency" as Mexicans (Gonzales, [<reflink idref="bib13" id="ref40">13</reflink>], pp. xxv, 8). Guided into connection with this heritage, which may have been displaced or obscured through histories of detribalization, migration, and assimilation, is often experienced by participants as repairing or healing some part of themselves that they did not realize was broken (Raschig, [<reflink idref="bib22" id="ref41">22</reflink>]). N.M. "had no understanding about [his] Indigenous ancestry" before Telpochcalli, he said, but through participating in the group began asking his mom about it. He learned then about his grandparents; how his grandpa would "wear the huaraches" (sandals associated with Indigenous Latin Americans), and "the struggles my grandma went through." He was careful not to identify directly as Indigenous in our interview, not wanting to co‐opt an identity he did not grow up with, but said simply, "we're Mexican, and... I'm just a human, you know, like, it doesn't really matter... but I got my long hair because of all that."</p> <p>Megan paused when she heard this—she had been unable to get a good sense of his hair on the two‐dimensional Zoom call. She tried to clarify this, asking, "Did you say you got long hair because of Telpochcalli?"</p> <p>Turning his head, N.M. retrieved a long braid and let it hang over his shoulder. He replied, "I decided to let my hair grow out because I was so interested in that, you know?"</p> <p>It was a moment of revelation. Among many Native North and Latin American Indigenous groups, Chicanos included, men's braided long hair is a marker of spirituality and power. If he had been uncomfortable putting his experience into words to a professor—after years spent in school being told he was not smart or good enough—the way he grew his hair and presented himself communicated a symbolic and material legacy, honoring his kin with humility. It evidenced the deep and embodied impacts of the forms of care and regenerated kinship he had experienced at Telpochcalli, in praxis that would be understood and valued by those in this community.</p> <p>"I like how it looks," he continued. "And, you know, once it's long enough, I'll be able to rock both braids, two braids, one for me, and one for my people. For my ancestors that came before me." Like the haptic intimacy of Josh grazing the bricks his ancestors laid at the Misión Valero, N.M.'s braid felt like more than his own, a way of keeping close to his kin through everyday embodiment.</p> <p>Megan carries N.M.'s story as it crystallized in that moment of revelation, showing the stakes of his sense of kinship and commitment to intergenerational healing. When she thinks about the impacts of Telpochcalli on participants, she thinks about him growing his braids. Occasionally, when the research team checks in, she asks about N.M. and how he is doing.</p> <p>"He's still to this day on his journey," Desiree noted a couple of years after the interview. She continued to see him at the community circles she facilitated in nearby Soledad every few weeks, and on weekends with other friends. N.M. had stayed in relation with her and MILPA, which she takes to be primary evidence of Telpochcalli's impact on participants. "He's still growing his hair." She added,</p> <p>I remember him saying because I had asked him how the interview went. And he's like, <emph>I was so nervous. And the reason why I was so nervous is because I want to make sure that I say the best about you guys. Oh, you guys are awesome. I just wanted to say like good things, and I didn't know how to like, say it</emph>. Yeah, so I was like, Dude, you did good. Like, you're good, bro. Like, don't even try it. Right? Feel from your heart what you were trying to say.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-20">CONCLUSION: RESURGENCE</hd> <p>N.M.'s story has many critical dimensions when interpreted through a Chicano Indigenous relational epistemology. His negative and diminishing experiences in public education were directly countered by the horizontal humanization of being in circle and welcomed as a producer of knowledge, someone to be listened to. Repairing the damage inflicted by feeling isolated and underappreciated, and relegated to classes he felt were inappropriate, in Telpochcalli he was able to build relationships of care with other near‐peers as well as ancestors, creating a new foundation and network that would sustain his personal growth and community engagement in the longer term. N.M. wanted to be seen and heard differently, and this could happen through Telpochcalli and his ongoing engagement with MILPA programming. He was nervous about articulating his experiences to a professor and wanted to affirm MILPA out of reciprocity and appreciation for their role in his life. His braid and the way he shows up in the world, oriented to "that healing" and passing it down, are an everyday act of transformation and an enactment of another way of knowing himself, his ancestry, and his future.</p> <p>Connecting the ethico‐methodological practice of the <emph>encuentro</emph> with N.M.'s story, we find parallel experiences in visiting with and honoring relations in San Antonio, affirming the critical impact of (re)generating kinship as a basis for further knowledge production, and the many ways we can continue to be in relation with our ancestors as part of our contemporary lives. In noticing the echoes of these and other core MILPA practices in both our research praxis and Telpochcalli participants' experiences, we realize that both the research and curriculum are sites in the "constellations of co‐resistance" and Indigenous resurgence being built around the region, state, world (Betasamosake Simpson, [<reflink idref="bib4" id="ref42">4</reflink>], p. 31). Thinking expansively, we see how the way we do this research together, as well as the pedagogical approach and transformations sparked in Telpochcalli, are part of the same Indigenizing, liberatory world‐making praxis—a praxis that chips away at carceral and colonial logics by doing and building otherwise.</p> <p>To conclude, an <emph>encuentro</emph> does not produce data as such, yet we learn from it. <emph>Encuentros</emph> feed and fuel our cross‐tribal kinship ties, our sense of being human and being loved. What and how we learn have informed and affirmed our project methods and findings. It has further supported our efforts to align the "what" with the "how" of our research, driven by our critical insistence on integrity and equity. Our study of an intergenerational and healing curriculum that imparts other ways of knowing grounded in cultural healing must itself be grounded in an Indigenized approach to knowledge production that is authentic to MILPA.</p> <p>This requires a correlating release of the expectation that all research activity should be "productive," instead tapping into a broader context of <emph>regenerative</emph> knowledge production predicated on the nurturance of relationships that exceed the project as such. Anthropologists studying liberatory education can (and should) equally question not only the content but the way they form their understandings. In actively bracketing and displacing the authoritative presumptions of participant‐observation, as conducted by a "heroic lone fieldworker," we offer the <emph>encuentro</emph> as a method for collaborative anthropological research that expands to meet the epistemic richness of the relationships, pedagogies and spaces we study.</p> <p>To close, we repeat what MILPA elders remind us: stay close to the fire and be mindful of the water. <emph>Con safos</emph>, stay <emph>trucha—</emph>the work of resurgence comes from all corners and is done together.</p> <hd id="AN0185257170-21">ACKNOWLEDGMENTS</hd> <p>We are very grateful for the generous co‐thinking and support of the editors of <emph>Anthropology & Education Quarterly</emph> and the three anonymous reviewers. 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Decolonization: Indigeneity, Education & Society 1 (1): 1 – 40.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibtext> Vargas, Roberto, and Samuelin Martinez. 1984. Razalogía: Community Learning for a New Society. Oakland, CA : Razagente Associates.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibtext> Villa, George, Desiree Rosas, and Megan Raschig. 2024. "Circling Up–In the Classroom." Essay in "Abolitionist Pedagogies" Series, Teaching Tools. Society for Cultural Anthropology. https://culanth.org/fieldsights/circling‐up‐in‐the‐classroom.</bibtext> </blist> <blist> <bibtext> Wilson, Shawn. 2008. Research Is Ceremony: Indigenous Research Methods. Halifax : Fernwood.</bibtext> </blist> </ref> <aug> <p>By Keylin Figueroa; Juan Gomez; Desiree Rosas; Josh Somers and Megan Raschig</p> <p>Reported by Author; Author; Author; Author; Author</p> <p></p> <p>Keylin Figueroa is the communications coordinator with MILPA, aiming to create culturally responsive messaging and storytelling. She is a Chicana Indigenous woman raised in Riverbank, CA. Seeing the similarities between The Valley & The Coast she continues to explore how to blend and braid our stories through multimedia.</p> <p>Juan Gomez is the father to Rayo Tamoxtzin (Lightning Bolt Spirit) and the executive director and co‐founder at MILPA. He was raised by his grandparents Amelia and Ampelio and is from the Tap Pilam Coahuiltecan Nation, belonging to the Auteca Pagame (Waterbird Clan) and Chicano from Southern Zacatecas. Juan is a cultural broker, movement builder, story carrier, and barrio scholar.</p> <p>Desiree Rosas worked as the Program and Leadership Assistant and Prop 47 Team at MILPA. A native of South Monterey County and a proud mother, Dez has firsthand experience with the justice and foster system. Drawing from her personal experiences, she now connects with the community and provides support to community members returning from incarceration.</p> <p>Josh Somers is a programs and data manager with MILPA and an enrolled member of the Tap Pilam Coahuiltecan Nation, Auteca Paguae Clan. Josh is a relative/associate with the American Indians in Texas of the Spanish Colonial Missions working for the preservation and protection of all Native American tribes and Indigenous people who reside on this land. He works hard for his community, organizing alongside his family against the oppression and erasure of his culture.</p> <p>Megan Raschig is associate professor of anthropology at Sacramento State University. She has worked with MILPA since 2013. More on this work can be found in her book, Healing Movements: Chicanx‐Indigenous Activism and Criminal Justice in California.</p> </aug> <nolink nlid="nl1" bibid="bib23" firstref="ref1"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl2" bibid="bib29" firstref="ref2"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl3" bibid="bib13" firstref="ref3"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl4" bibid="bib31" firstref="ref4"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl5" bibid="bib17" firstref="ref5"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl6" bibid="bib19" firstref="ref6"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl7" bibid="bib25" firstref="ref7"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl8" bibid="bib12" firstref="ref9"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl9" bibid="bib27" firstref="ref10"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl10" bibid="bib30" firstref="ref11"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl11" bibid="bib21" firstref="ref12"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl12" bibid="bib15" firstref="ref15"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl13" bibid="bib16" firstref="ref17"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl14" bibid="bib24" firstref="ref18"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl15" bibid="bib26" firstref="ref21"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl16" bibid="bib28" firstref="ref22"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl17" bibid="bib11" firstref="ref23"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl18" bibid="bib18" firstref="ref24"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl19" bibid="bib10" firstref="ref27"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl20" bibid="bib14" firstref="ref30"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl21" bibid="bib20" firstref="ref31"></nolink> <nolink nlid="nl22" bibid="bib22" firstref="ref39"></nolink>
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  Data: Encuentros beyond Ethnography: Indigenizing Ethico-Methodologies in the Anthropology of Education
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  Data: <searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Keylin+Figueroa%22">Keylin Figueroa</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Juan+Gomez%22">Juan Gomez</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Desiree+Rosas%22">Desiree Rosas</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Josh+Somers%22">Josh Somers</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="AR" term="%22Megan+Raschig%22">Megan Raschig</searchLink> (ORCID <externalLink term="https://orcid.org/0000-0002-2299-5198">0000-0002-2299-5198</externalLink>)
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  Data: <searchLink fieldCode="SO" term="%22Anthropology+%26+Education+Quarterly%22"><i>Anthropology & Education Quarterly</i></searchLink>. 2025 56(2).
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  Data: Wiley. Available from: John Wiley & Sons, Inc. 111 River Street, Hoboken, NJ 07030. Tel: 800-835-6770; e-mail: cs-journals@wiley.com; Web site: https://www.wiley.com/en-us
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  Data: 19
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  Label: Publication Date
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  Data: 2025
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  Data: Journal Articles<br />Reports - Research
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  Data: <searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Educational+Anthropology%22">Educational Anthropology</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Educational+Research%22">Educational Research</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Research+Methodology%22">Research Methodology</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Indigenous+Populations%22">Indigenous Populations</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Hispanic+American+Students%22">Hispanic American Students</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Epistemology%22">Epistemology</searchLink><br /><searchLink fieldCode="DE" term="%22Decolonization%22">Decolonization</searchLink>
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  Data: 10.1111/aeq.70004
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  Label: ISSN
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  Data: 0161-7761<br />1548-1492
– Name: Abstract
  Label: Abstract
  Group: Ab
  Data: Drawing on collaborative research with MILPA on their liberatory curriculum, Telpochcalli, this essay offers "encuentros" as a regenerative ethico-methodology in community-led and kinship-grounded anthropological research into Chicano Indigenous educational spaces. "Encuentros," encounters with others for relationship-building and mutual learning, renew and expand existing relational knowledge. If an anthropology of education is concerned with epistemology and decolonization, we should approach "how" we study Indigenized educational projects with care and creativity.
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  Data: 2025
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      – TitleFull: Encuentros beyond Ethnography: Indigenizing Ethico-Methodologies in the Anthropology of Education
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