Democratizing the Curriculum: From Recitation to Liberation

In the classrooms of my childhood, the teacher’s voice was the only one that mattered. We memorized facts, recited them in unison, and dared not ask why. Questions weren’t welcome—they were seen as rebellion, a sign that someone was “slow,” or worse, that they were challenging the teacher’s authority. The curriculum was a monologue, not a dialogue.

That pattern didn’t stop in childhood—it followed us into higher education. Professors entered the classroom, opened the textbook, and spoke uninterrupted until the hour ended. To be truthful, I’ve witnessed the same model here in the U.S. I once audited a graduate course on adult learning and, by accident, attended the same session twice. The professor repeated the exact same joke, delivered the lecture word-for-word, and called it engagement when he asked students to take turns reading his slides out loud. Ironically, research comparing proficient and less proficient adult readers has shown that passive reading aloud—especially without discussion or reflection—does little to enhance comprehension or critical thinking (Majid et al., 2010).

I wasn’t paid extra to engage learners, but I knew that creating a meaningful learning experience meant taking learning beyond the classroom. It also meant fostering an environment that was both safe and brave. A safe environment meant students were free from retribution, ridicule, or—especially in the Iraqi context—physical danger. Under a dictatorship, teachers reported students and vice versa; the report itself was the due process. There were no questions, only consequences.

A brave environment, on the other hand, required trust. It meant learners could engage with one another and me, not to recite, but to discover. It meant we could confront difficult truths, challenge dominant narratives, and co-construct knowledge with intention and integrity. That’s not something you can read off a slide.

Discussions became the norm in my classes, guided by open-ended questions that invited students to construct knowledge rather than absorb it. But this didn’t mean learners were left without structure. Each dialogue was anchored in carefully curated materials, and after every session, I synthesized our collective insights and shared them with the class. In doing so, I reinforced that their voices mattered—that knowledge wasn’t something handed down, but something we built together.

In the U.S., democratizing the curriculum took on a different shape. It meant honoring the voices of English language learners, allowing them to construct meaning in a second language, and helping them discover, not only grammar—but culture, belonging, and agency. Technology became a cornerstone in my teaching portfolio, opening digital bridges across geographies and experiences. Whether through video dialogues, collaborative projects, or global case studies, the screen became a window, one through which students could see the world and be seen in it.

 Democratizing the curriculum is not about abandoning structure or expertise—it’s about redistributing voice, agency, and meaning. It requires us to teach with curiosity, listen with humility, and lead with courage. Whether in Baghdad or Boston, education should be a space where learners are not just recipients of knowledge but partners in shaping it. That shift is not only pedagogical—it is transformative. it challenges traditional learning and restores learners’ agency.

What would it look like if every classroom—no matter the country, the subject, or the language—invited learners to co-create knowledge? If you’ve challenged traditional teaching models or are working to build more inclusive learning spaces, I’d love to hear your story. How are you democratizing the curriculum in your own work? Let’s build a future where learning is no longer dictated—but discovered, together.