{"id":74727,"date":"2026-02-27T07:30:31","date_gmt":"2026-02-27T06:30:31","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/a-desk.org\/?p=74727"},"modified":"2026-02-26T11:32:06","modified_gmt":"2026-02-26T10:32:06","slug":"el-conocimiento-encarnado-se-convierte-en-una-forma-de-pedagogia-colectiva","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/a-desk.org\/en\/magazine\/el-conocimiento-encarnado-se-convierte-en-una-forma-de-pedagogia-colectiva\/","title":{"rendered":"Embodied knowledge becomes a form of collective pedagogy"},"content":{"rendered":"

Theory, here, is a discourse embedded in academic institutions that might be seen as inaccessible \u2013 at best daunting, at worst hostile and violent \u2013 to certain publics, including those that are neurodivergent, are living with mental illness, are survivors of sexual violence, or are unable to access higher education due to class- and race-based discrimination. And yet, like Young,<\/span><\/i> kc understands autotheory \u2013 a different way of practicing \u201ctheory\u201d in para-institutional and embodied ways \u2013 to be a fundamentally politicized mode of feminist writing that makes space for those have been inordinately marginalized to engage in the practice of theorizing and to redefine what it means to theorize. <\/span><\/i>(Fournier 25-26)<\/span><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

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The day I finish the final revision of this editorial text marks the anniversary of my departure from Spain. I have now spent thirteen years living abroad.<\/span><\/p>\n

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In this extended time, I have experienced various educational institutions across multiple countries. I have been part of student bodies and teaching teams at public universities, state universities, Ivy League programs, social justice programs, and art schools. However, it wasn’t until I arrived in the Netherlands that my teaching methodologies\u2014and my way of understanding our bodies within a classroom setting\u2014began to change.<\/span><\/p>\n

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July 3, 2020 \u00b7 09:00 \u2013 09:45<\/b><\/p>\n

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COVID-19 began a few months ago, and many places around the world are at the peak of the pandemic. I have an interview with the Social Practices department at the University of Applied Sciences Rotterdam. Still, I do not know if my profile fits<\/span><\/p>\n

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After a 30-minute delay, I am finally able to log into Teams and join the online interview. I feel ashamed of being late to my first “serious” interview in Dutch higher education, yet I am put at ease when the people on the other side of the screen welcome me with an empathetic greeting. They acknowledge that this is the new reality: technology is necessary to connect, yet it doesn\u2019t always work.<\/span><\/p>\n

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I am interviewed by several different people sharing the screen; I am not entirely sure who is who, even though their names appear in the bottom corner of their windows. I set aside all the information I had prepared for the interview, letting my body simply sink into the process and follow along.<\/span><\/p>\n

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After a very organic introduction of everyone present, we dive into the content. I am asked about my pedagogical values, methodologies, and references. Right after that, I am asked a rhetorical question: <\/span>\u201cDo you realize that in our classes, we create content out of our experiences?\u201d<\/span><\/i><\/p>\n

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At that moment, I was unable to grasp the weight or the importance that question would come to have in my development as an educator, an artist, and a person. Until that point, I had never truly considered that my experience, my body, and my identity could be the crucial elements used to generate the content of my classes. <\/span>And so, it happened. That interview was rewarded with a position to teach.<\/span><\/p>\n

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For the last six years, I have brought my body and my experiences to the different classes I taught alongside a singular group of colleagues, friends, and allies:<\/span><\/p>\n

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