Introduction
Racism is a pervasive aspect of everyday life for many descendants of immigrants in Sweden, experienced across school, leisure and digital contexts (Barnombudsmannen 2021). Research shows that the stigmatisation of pupils with migrant backgrounds negatively affects academic achievement and fosters feelings of inadequacy. For example, when applying to schools outside their neighbourhoods, pupils from disadvantaged areas are often labelled as problematic (Lundström 2021).
Our previous research on schools in disadvantaged areas (Behtoui forthcoming) confirms international findings that colour‑blindness (Duncan 2019; Lynch et al. 2017) is a dominant norm in education, including in Sweden (Schwarz & Lindqvist 2018). Colour‑blind approaches claim neutrality while obscuring racism and structural inequalities between racialised and white populations (Bonilla‑Silva 2017; Kohli 2018). Within colour‑blind approaches, schools often assert that all pupils are treated equally, regardless of background. However, research shows that racialised assumptions continue to shape practices and decision‑making, creating a disconnect between colour‑blind claims and the lived realities of racialised groups (Castro‑Atwater 2020). As Lynn and Dixson (2021) argue, such perspectives ultimately normalise and reproduce existing inequalities.
While a growing body of research has documented how racism operates in educational settings, less attention has been paid to how schools actively work to counter racism in everyday practice.
Existing studies suggest that effective and promising anti‑racist approaches include pedagogical practices that draw on students’ lived experiences, support for students who have experienced racism and collaboration between schools and local communities (Arneback & Jämte 2022; Warren & Mapp 2011; Yosso & Solórzano 2005). At the same time, educators engaged in such work often encounter a range of challenges, including resistance, internalised racism and broader political constraints.
This article examines such practices using the Critical Educational Studies (CES) framework, a perspective that views schools as potential sites for empowerment, critical awareness and social transformation (Apple 2013; Freire 2018). In particular, we draw on Apple’s concept of ‘spaces of possible action’ to analyse how educators create opportunities for anti‑racist work within structurally constrained educational settings.
As part of our ongoing project (Improved Educational Outcomes in Segregated Schools), we identified a group of schools that had improved pupils’ educational outcomes and well‑being. Within this group, two schools stood out for the scope and continuity of their anti‑racist work, which staff described as contributing to these improvements.
This article examines effective and promising anti‑racist practices in two schools located in structurally disadvantaged areas of major Swedish cities. Drawing on these two case studies, it explores how such practices are enacted in educational contexts where racial discrimination is often denied or obscured and examines the challenges educators encounter in implementing them. Through a deliberate effort to integrate anti‑racism into everyday educational practices, these schools seek to raise pupils’ awareness, strengthen their self‑esteem and equip them with the skills needed to confront racism in their everyday lives.
By ‘effective and promising anti‑racist practices’, we refer to practices grounded in a CES framework introduced above that seek to challenge racism by fostering students’ critical awareness, strengthening their agency and promoting their empowerment (Freire 2018; Kohli 2014; Solórzano & Yosso 2002).
To explore these issues, the study addresses the following research questions:
How are anti‑racist initiatives enacted in everyday school practices, and how can they be understood as effective or promising forms of anti‑racist work?
What challenges do educators encounter in implementing such initiatives, and what conditions shape their possibilities?
The Swedish Context
During the 1990s, the Swedish education system underwent a radical transformation. As part of a broader global trend, education was increasingly restructured as a quasi‑market, a development that has come to characterise Swedish schools. A centrally regulated system designed to ensure equal quality of schooling across the country was replaced by a decentralised one with strong market elements, including increased competition, profit‑making, the introduction of New Public Management and the expansion of so‑called independent schools alongside school choice policies (Lundahl 2017; Sernhede et al. 2024). Combined with growing housing segregation, these reforms have led to extensive school segregation (Fjellman & Hansen 2025).
Recent research identifies this development as an urgent concern (see the summary of these studies in Skolverket 2018a). The variation between schools in pupils’ final grades at the end of compulsory education (Year 9) doubled between 2000 and 2016, rising from 7% to 14% (Skolverket 2018b: 23). School segregation in terms of pupils’ class and migration backgrounds explains almost the entire widening gap between schools (Skolverket 2018b: 26).
Research also shows that segregated schools in socio‑economically disadvantaged areas tend to have fewer resources, including higher staff turnover and a greater concentration of pupils from low‑income and low‑educated families. As a result, a growing number of pupils in these areas are at risk of failing in their studies and dropping out of school before completing upper secondary education (Behtoui 2023).
In a political climate in which the idea of a ‘migration threat’ has become a prominent feature of public discourse (Schierup et al. 2018), large‑scale desegregation of neighbourhoods and schools appears politically unfeasible. At the same time, the consequences of school segregation are too severe to ignore (Bunar 2022).
Effective and Promising Anti‑Racist Practices in Schools: A Review of Previous Research
As noted above, pupils in segregated schools located in structurally disadvantaged areas are particularly vulnerable to racism and processes of racialisation. They are frequently subjected to prejudices that position them as a ‘deficient and problematic’ category of students (Behtoui et al. 2019). At the same time, within the dominant colour‑blind ideology of Swedish schools, all pupils are assumed to be treated equally, regardless of class, race or ethnicity (Schwarz & Lindqvist 2018).
While international research on racism in education has a long history (Gillborn 2008), research on racism and discrimination in Swedish schools is comparatively recent. It was not until the mid‑1990s that scholars began to analyse power relations within the Swedish school system and the various forms of racism operating in educational settings (Behtoui et al. 2019).
Situated within this broader field, the present article focuses specifically on studies concerned with effective or promising forms of anti‑racist practices in schools. It contributes to a small but growing body of research on practical anti‑racist work aimed at creating educational environments in which racialised students have equal opportunities for academic success and well‑being.
In reviewing earlier studies, we identify four recurring themes: the incorporation of pupils’ lived experiences into anti‑racist pedagogical practices, support for students who have experienced racism, collaboration with local civil society organisations, and challenges encountered by educators engaged in anti‑racist work.
Incorporating pupils’ lived experiences into anti‑racist pedagogy
A recurring theme in the literature is the importance of grounding anti‑racist education in students’ lived experiences. Solórzano and Yosso (2002) emphasise the value of counter‑storytelling, which draws on the experiential knowledge of racialised groups as both a source of insight and a pedagogical resource. By centring students’ experiences, counter‑stories challenge deficit‑oriented narratives, expose institutional inequalities, and open up possibilities for more socially just educational practices.
Similarly, Cammarota and Fine (2008) argue that effective anti‑racist practices involve participatory and action‑oriented forms of learning that engage students in critical inquiry and collective action. Such approaches enable students to critically examine and challenge conditions of injustice, including racism, sexism and classism. Arneback and Jämte (2022) likewise identify a range of methods that teachers use to counteract racism in education, including structurally oriented strategies such as emancipatory, norm‑critical and intercultural approaches, as well as approaches focused on individual attitudes and behaviours, including relational, democratic and knowledge‑based practices. Their analysis suggests that anti‑racist work benefits from a plurality of context‑sensitive strategies rather than reliance on a single, uniform model. Such approaches stand in contrast to colour‑blind perspectives that assume equal treatment without recognising how racism and structural inequalities shape pupils’ experiences.
A second theme concerns support for students who encounter racism in their everyday lives. Research suggests that anti‑racist education involves more than providing knowledge about racism; it also includes creating supportive environments in which students can process experiences of discrimination and develop strategies for responding to them. Arneback and Jämte (2022) describe a variety of relational, democratic and emancipatory practices through which educators seek to support students exposed to racism and strengthen their capacity to challenge it.
Research further suggests that creating spaces where students can discuss and reflect upon experiences of racism is an important component of anti‑racist work (Solórzano & Yosso 2002). Such support can strengthen students’ sense of belonging, agency and capacity to respond to discrimination in everyday life.
A third theme highlights the importance of collaboration between schools, families and local communities. Warren and Mapp (2011) show that alliances between schools and community organisations can make schools more responsive to the experiences and needs of racialised and low‑income students. Such collaborations enable students and their parents to become active agents of change and contribute to efforts addressing poverty and racism both within and beyond the school context. These findings suggest that anti‑racist work is often strengthened when it extends beyond the classroom and involves a broader network of actors.
A fourth theme concerns the challenges educators encounter in anti‑racist work. One such challenge is internalised racism. Kohli (2014) and Pyke (2010) describe how individuals who are themselves racialised may consciously or unconsciously reproduce racial hierarchies by directing negative attitudes towards themselves, their own group or other marginalised groups. This involves the conscious and/or unconscious acceptance of a racial hierarchy in which whiteness is positioned as superior (Pyke 2010). Internalised racism can therefore complicate anti‑racist efforts and requires active pedagogical engagement.
Another challenge concerns the role of educators themselves and the question of who carries out anti‑racist work. Ohito (2019) argues that anti‑racist teaching is deeply informed by educators’ embodied and racialised experiences, as well as their understandings of race and gender. This suggests that anti‑racist work is shaped not only by institutional policies but also by the biographies and commitments of those who carry it out.
Despite these important contributions, relatively little research has examined how these different dimensions of anti‑racist work are combined and enacted in everyday school practice. By focusing on two schools located in segregated and structurally disadvantaged Swedish settings, this article contributes empirically grounded insights into how anti‑racist initiatives are implemented, as well as the challenges that shape their development and sustainability.
Critical Educational Studies (CES): Theoretical Framework
To frame the empirical material in this article, we draw on Critical Educational Studies (CES). This perspective builds on Paulo Freire’s (2018) ‘liberating pedagogy’, which calls for action against the institutional processes that reproduce unjust social conditions (Apple et al. 2009). From this perspective, anti‑racist strategies can be pursued through practices that raise critical awareness and promote students’ and families’ empowerment and active participation. Unlike colour‑blind approaches, CES explicitly recognises racism as a structural condition and emphasises critical awareness, empowerment and collective action as means of challenging inequality. While the previous research reviewed above identifies a range of effective anti‑racist practices, CES provides the analytical framework through which these practices can be understood as forms of empowerment and ‘spaces of possible action’ within structurally constrained educational settings.
Within this tradition, schools are understood to be part of the democratic ‘public sphere’ and can function as spaces for identity formation as well as sites for challenging inequalities based on class, gender, race/ethnicity, religion and sexuality (Giroux 2005). Racism, in CES, is not understood as a phenomenon of the past nor merely as the actions of individuals, but as a contemporary, systemic and structural set of practices that maintain unequal power relations between groups (Taylor, Gillborn & Ladson‑Billings 2023).
In this context, Apple (2013) introduces the concept of ‘spaces of possible action’ to describe the limited but real opportunities for resistance and transformative practice that exist within dominant structures. Within such spaces, critical and emancipatory actions can emerge. Teachers and students may identify or create these spaces as opportunities to question dominant knowledge and narratives and to build alliances with parents, local activists, community organisations, social workers and other actors committed to social justice (Anyon 2014: 167). Through these alliances, they can engage in critical pedagogy and democratic practice and reimagine education as a tool for social justice. In this sense, ‘spaces of possible action’ capture a dialectical tension between structural constraints and the possibilities for agency and resistance.
Similarly, Janet Newman in ‘Working the Spaces of Power’ (2012) argues that power should not be understood solely as a form of top‑down domination. Instead, attention should be paid to how bottom‑up initiatives operate within and across institutional structures to create openings for influence that are neither purely oppositional nor fully assimilative. This framework provides a lens for analysing how anti‑racist practices are enacted within structurally constrained yet dynamic educational contexts. Her approach highlights agency within constraint and shows how possibilities for transformation emerge through practice. Such initiatives involve complex processes of alliance‑building, the negotiation of multiple and often competing logics, and the creation of pathways for influence that are neither purely oppositional nor fully assimilative.
Data and Methods
As part of our ongoing project (Improving Educational Outcomes in Segregated Schools), we conducted a broader mapping of schools located in structurally disadvantaged suburbs of major Swedish cities that had demonstrated improvements in students’ academic outcomes over time. This mapping was based on data from Statistics Sweden on changes over the previous five years in average grades and the proportion of pupils qualifying for upper‑secondary education, as well as media reports and consultations with community activists with whom we had established contacts through previous projects. Throughout this period, the schools continued to serve predominantly low‑income, migrant‑background populations, making it unlikely that the observed improvements reflected demographic changes in the surrounding areas. From this broader pool, we identified two schools as information‑rich cases due to the visibility, scope and continuity of their anti‑racist work. The empirical analysis presented below focuses specifically on those parts of the data that relate to anti‑racist initiatives and strategies within these two case studies.
The data were generated through an ethnographic methodology (Buchanan & Bryman 2009) over one to three semesters at each school and consisted of participant observation, interviews and documents. Observations were conducted in classrooms and during breaks, as well as in staff rooms and at parent–teacher meetings. During these observations, detailed fieldnotes were taken on interactions across different settings. Fieldnotes were written during observations and expanded at the end of each day.
The interviews were conducted in a semi‑structured format and focused on teachers’, school leaders’ and support staff’s experiences of anti‑racist work. In addition, on some occasions, we asked students for permission to read essays they had written for different courses, which provided further insight into how anti‑racist themes were articulated in classroom practice.
Participation was voluntary, and informed consent was obtained from all participants prior to the fieldwork, in accordance with the ethical guidelines of the Swedish Research Council. The project was approved by the Swedish Ethical Review Authority in accordance with the General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR). All names of participants, schools and referenced groups have been anonymised.
As ethnographic researchers, we recognise that data are co‑produced through interactions between researchers and participants. The fieldwork was conducted by three university researchers with extensive experience of research on schools located in disadvantaged urban areas. Our familiarity with the field facilitated trust and access to the schools, while our different positionalities in terms of age, gender and ethnic background provided diverse perspectives on the interpretation of the empirical material. Throughout the project, we continuously reflected on how our backgrounds and positions might shape access, interactions, interpretations and analytical decisions.
In the first stage of the analysis, we selected those parts of the data that were directly related to anti‑racist activities. The analysis followed a deductive approach (Miles et al. 2014), guided by theoretically informed themes derived from previous research on effective anti‑racist practices in education and from the conceptual framework of CES. These themes informed both the design of the interview guide and the analytical strategy. In the second stage, the empirical material within each category was systematically examined by posing theoretically informed questions to the data. In particular, we analysed how the identified practices could be understood as forms of empowerment, in the sense developed within CES – that is, how they contributed to students’ critical awareness, agency and capacity to respond to racism in their everyday lives.
The analysis thus involved interpreting the empirical material in relation to key theoretical concepts such as empowerment, critical awareness and ‘spaces of possible action’. The aim was to examine how and to what extent the empirical material could be understood as exemplifying, extending or challenging these concepts.
Throughout the analysis, attention was paid to variations and tensions within the data, including instances where anti‑racist practices produced unintended or contradictory effects. These cases were used to refine the interpretation and to provide a more nuanced understanding of the conditions under which such initiatives can be sustained. To enhance analytical rigour, interpretations were continuously checked against multiple data sources (observations, interviews and documents), ensuring consistency between empirical material and theoretical interpretation.
Findings from the Case Studies
Both ‘Sunfield School’ and ‘Birka School’ are located in socio‑economically disadvantaged areas in two major Swedish cities, where the vast majority of pupils have migrant backgrounds. At Sunfield School, most staff have migrant backgrounds, whereas, at Birka School, approximately half do. Pupils at both schools come from a variety of ethnic and linguistic backgrounds, including families originating from the Horn of Africa, the Middle East and Eastern Europe. One school is a lower‑secondary school (Grades 7–9), while the other is a comprehensive school (Grades 1–9). As noted above, both schools were selected because they had demonstrated sustained improvements over the previous five years in average grades and in the proportion of pupils qualifying for upper‑secondary education, despite serving highly disadvantaged populations.
In the sections that follow, we present the findings from the two case studies, structured around four key analytical themes derived from the deductive analysis.
Anti‑Racist content in teaching and awareness‑raising practices
One of the most common anti‑racist practices observed in the two schools was the integration of anti‑racist issues across the curriculum. In line with previous research and the theoretical framework, this approach aimed to raise students’ awareness and foster empowerment and active participation in addressing racism. As Yosso and Solórzano (2005) emphasise, such practices enable students to examine mechanisms of subordination and draw on these insights as resources for anti‑racist engagement.
At Sunfield School, anti‑racism is introduced as a cross‑curricular theme for Year 7 pupils during the spring term. As Leila, the Deputy Headteacher, explains, the theme permeates teaching across subjects, followed by a focus on feminism and lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender and queer (LGBTQ) issues in subsequent terms. Reading literature with anti‑racist themes is central, particularly in English, Swedish and social studies. As Oskar, an English teacher, notes, students read selected texts, write reflective essays, and discuss how the content relates to their own experiences.
In line with Ohito (2019), who highlights the use of writing tasks to stimulate critical reflection on racism, Hala, a Swedish teacher at Birka School, describes how she implements this approach. Each term, Year 8 pupils write argumentative texts on topics connected to their everyday lives, such as ‘life in segregated neighbourhoods’, ‘when someone dies in a shooting’, or ‘experiences of racism’. Working in groups, they describe personal experiences and reflect on them before presenting their texts orally in class. Selected essays are edited and submitted to a local newspaper for publication, including the students’ names and photographs. As Hala notes, ‘it’s a great reward for writing good texts’, and pupils express pride in sharing their published work with others.
Similarly, in social studies, literature and historical topics are used to engage students in discussions on slavery, the Holocaust and contemporary forms of racism. Students also present on issues such as antisemitism, Afrophobia, Islamophobia and racism directed towards national minorities. As Alva, a social studies teacher, explains, discussions of nationalism often prompt reflections on who is considered Swedish, leading students to critically examine how inclusion and exclusion are constructed.
Leila further explains that the anti‑racist theme extends beyond core subjects. For example, in science lessons, students discuss ‘racial biology’ as the supposed ‘scientific foundation’ for so‑called racial hygiene policies.
In art classes, Year 7 pupils create portraits of anti‑racist figures such as Nelson Mandela, Rosa Parks, Martin Luther King Jr and Toni Morrison, or others of their own choosing. As Lena, an art teacher, notes, these works are exhibited in the school canteen at the end of each spring term.
Watching films with anti‑racist themes is also a popular activity among pupils at Birka School, as noted by a teaching assistant involved in after‑school programmes. Pupils have also attended theatre performances, including one in which a stand‑up comedian with a migrant background shared his life story in a humorous way. As the principal, Kristina, notes, ‘our students really appreciated it’.
Elisabet, the school librarian of Birka School with over 30 years’ experience in disadvantaged suburban schools, describes how reading is used as part of anti‑racist practice: ‘First, I read the books aloud to them. Then they write about their impressions […]. Afterwards, they read their texts in front of their classmates.’ Weekly library sessions aim to foster engagement with reading, particularly among pupils who may have limited exposure to books at home.
Ingrid, a social studies teacher at Birka School, runs a podcast featuring conversations with teachers, students and invited guests, in which racism and discrimination are recurring themes. Shared on social media, the podcast is, according to Ingrid, ‘quite popular among students and their families’. She adds that it ‘doesn’t cost much and doesn’t require advanced technology’.
Taken together, these activities can be understood as what Arneback and Jämte (2022) classify as ‘knowledge‑focused actions’, in which teachers provide students with knowledge about the history of racism, its contemporary expressions and ways of counteracting it. While this typology is not itself grounded in CES, the practices we observed also reflect CES principles by drawing on pupils’ lived experiences, incorporating narratives of racialised individuals and using counter‑storytelling to foster critical awareness and challenge dominant narratives that reproduce inequality (Cammarota & Fine 2008; Yosso & Solórzano 2005).
Empowerment through support for pupils who have experienced racism
Within the CES framework, anti‑racist work involves not only raising awareness about racism but also supporting students in developing the agency and confidence needed to respond to discrimination in their everyday lives. The examples below illustrate how educators sought to provide such support to students who experienced racist comments and harassment both inside and outside school.
How school staff respond to such situations is illustrated by Alva, a social studies teacher at Sunfield School, who recounts an incident during the 2018 election year. As her class passed a far‑right party booth, several pupils approached her, upset, reporting that a campaign worker had said the ‘fucking N‑word’ and told them to ‘go back to where you came from’. Alva intervened, telling the man: ‘You can’t talk to the children like that. They were born in Sweden – they are just as Swedish as you are’, before taking the pupils away. Back in class, the incident prompted further discussion, with pupils sharing similar experiences, such as being asked to justify their appearance or identity. As Alva explains, these conversations ‘teach our students how to react in similar situations’.
Rather than treating the incident as an isolated act of prejudice, Alva converted it into a pedagogical opportunity through which students could collectively reflect on racism and discuss strategies for responding to similar situations. In this sense, her intervention can be understood as a form of emancipatory action aimed at strengthening students’ agency and capacity to confront racism in everyday life.
Several teachers at both schools reported that their pupils are frequently subjected to racist treatment in public spaces, even when their behaviour does not deviate from expected norms. Ingrid, a social studies teacher at Birka School, recounts how, during a school excursion, a museum guard acted aggressively towards the pupils, while, on another occasion, an elderly woman on public transport described them as ‘uncivilised’. Similar experiences were reported at Sunfield School, where, according to the school counsellor Hassan, pupils are frequently stopped by security guards on public transport. In these situations, staff not only intervened but also used the incidents as opportunities for reflection and discussion with students.
These practices can be understood as forms of what Arneback and Jämte (2022) describe as ‘teaching as emancipatory action’. Rather than treating racist incidents as isolated events, teachers encouraged students to analyse them as expressions of broader social relations and to develop strategies for responding to racism in everyday life. In this sense, support involved both solidarity and the development of students’ agency.
When asked about the media’s negative portrayal of segregated suburbs, Jamal, a Physical Education teacher at Sunfield School, emphasised that pupils ‘love their neighbourhood’ and feel a sense of pride despite poverty and territorial stigma. According to him, this pride has been strengthened through discussions about the structural causes of inequality. Such discussions can also be understood as efforts to challenge deficit‑oriented understandings of disadvantaged neighbourhoods and to strengthen students’ capacity to interpret their own experiences through a structural rather than individualising lens.
At Birka School, the counsellor Yusuf described how small‑group discussions created space for students to share experiences of racism in public settings. As he noted, ‘some pupils who don’t dare to speak in class become active in smaller settings’. In one discussion, a pupil who had been stopped by the police explained: ‘I felt that everyone passing by was looking at me’. These conversations provided opportunities for students to articulate experiences that might otherwise remain unspoken. They also functioned as forms of counter‑storytelling (Solórzano & Yosso 2002), enabling students to connect personal experiences of discrimination to wider patterns of racialisation and exclusion.
Birka School’s guidance counsellor, Rafaela, recounts how three high‑achieving pupils (with Somali and Iraqi backgrounds) were admitted to a prestigious secondary school in an affluent area. Shortly after starting, they experienced verbal harassment from peers. When the school leadership failed to take their concerns seriously, as one of the boys explained, ‘it seemed like we were the problem’. Rafaela supported them in transferring to another school where they were treated with greater respect. Reflecting on this, she notes: ‘we realised that we needed to prepare our pupils for incidents of that kind’. This example illustrates how anti‑racist work extends beyond responding to immediate incidents. It also involves preparing students for future encounters with racism and equipping them with the emotional and practical resources needed to navigate educational environments in which they may be treated as outsiders.
Taken together, these practices align with what Kohli et al. (2017) identify as teachers’ use of critical pedagogy to support pupils who have experienced racism and to develop students’ capacity to navigate and resist it. They create spaces for students to find their voice, engage in counter‑storytelling, understand what it means to be structurally dominated and become empowered.
Alliance with external actors
Within the framework of CES, collaborations with parents, community organisations and local activists can be understood as creating additional ‘spaces of possible action’ (Apple 2013), through which educators extend anti‑racist work beyond the classroom and mobilise resources, knowledge, and support from actors outside the school. In this way, such collaborations create further opportunities for empowerment, participation, and social change. In line with Anyon (2014), these alliances enable schools to strengthen their anti‑racist efforts by engaging parents, local activists, community organisations, social workers, and other stakeholders. Drawing on examples from our empirical material, we illustrate below how such alliance‑building was enacted in practice.
Rafaela, the careers advisor at Sunfield School, explains that the school regularly invites successful non‑white professionals to share their life stories with pupils, including both their achievements and the challenges they have faced. As an example, she describes a consultant of Syrian heritage who grew up in the neighbourhood and led a workshop with Year 8 pupils. As Rafaela points out, ‘his life story, his experiences of racialisation and prejudice, [and] his determination not to give up’ made the session highly insightful for the pupils.
Tara, the headteacher of Sunfield School, describes how the school has involved students in civic action beyond the school. She recounts how a Year 9 pupil informed her that a group of mothers in the neighbourhood had organised a demonstration against gang violence and shootings in the city centre. The school leadership then decided that pupils would attend, accompanied by teachers, as an opportunity to observe ‘how a demonstration is organised’ and to take part in collective action. As Tara explains, the school has since sought to participate in similar initiatives, including activities linked to the Black Lives Matter movement.
At Birka School, the headteacher Marta describes the school’s regular collaboration with two municipally funded organisations working to promote equality and counter discrimination. One organisation engages pupils through sports activities, theme days on equality, and public events. The other, a feminist anti‑racist group, organises self‑defence courses and dance lessons for girls. As Marta explains, they visit the school each term, encourage participation, and add that ‘girls who have taken part in these activities have gained increased self‑confidence.’ Such partnerships illustrate how alliances with external actors extend anti‑racist work beyond the school context.
Taken together, these examples resonate with research highlighting the importance of alliances between schools and communities in advancing equity‑oriented education. As Warren and Mapp (2011) show, such alliances enable students, parents and local actors to act as agents of change within unequal systems. Similarly, Guo et al. (2024) emphasise the importance of collaborative, action‑oriented partnerships in challenging racism. These alliances can thus be understood as key resources for extending anti‑racist work beyond the school context while fostering collective agency and strengthening students’ and communities’ capacity to challenge inequality, thereby reinforcing the collective dimensions of anti‑racist work.
These alliances may be understood as examples of ‘spaces of possible action’ (Apple 2013) through which educators extend anti‑racist work beyond the classroom.
Educators’ experiences and motivations
In addition to the practices described above, staff members’ own experiences and motivations appeared to play an important role in sustaining anti‑racist initiatives. The majority of educators working in these two schools were young people with immigrant backgrounds or individuals with experience of belonging to subordinated groups (mostly women from working‑class families and LGBTQ people). Many seemed to find a strong sense of meaning in working in such contexts. Although anti‑racist initiatives were initially introduced by a small group of staff, they became sustainable over time as increasing numbers of teachers and other staff members chose to participate and support these activities. With this shared commitment, the work developed into a collective effort. It was the solidarity of the entire school staff (their shared commitment to improving the educational opportunities and well‑being of their pupils) that transformed the initial initiatives into a shared practice. As Ohito (2019) notes, previous research has paid relatively little attention to the role of educators’ lived experiences, identities and motivations in shaping anti‑racist practices. She argues that teachers’ life experiences shape their awareness of injustice and inequality and influence their pedagogical approaches. For those with experiences of disadvantaged positions, teaching is an embodied practice rather than a purely cognitive one, as they draw, for example, on their ability to read students’ body language. These insights are particularly relevant for understanding how anti‑racist initiatives can be developed and maintained in segregated school contexts (cf. Kohli 2014).
This was also evident in staff discussions concerning how inequality and exclusion should be understood and addressed. During one staff‑room conversation at Birka School, Ulrik, a young history teacher, enthusiastically described his Year 9 lesson on Sweden in the 1930s, explaining how Prime Minister Pär Albin Hansson mobilised a form of ‘democratic nationalism’ through the idea of folkhemmet (‘the people’s home’). According to Ulrik, this approach helped Sweden avoid the rise of ‘aggressive authoritarian nationalism’, unlike in many other European countries at the time. Ingrid, a social studies teacher, added that pupils should also be reminded that, during the same period, Uppsala University established a Department of Racial Biology, where members of the Sámi minority were examined for alleged genetic deficiencies. Ulrik quickly acknowledged the point and replied: ‘You’re right – there has been a blind spot […]. Over time, this has affected other minorities and immigrants who have never been treated as equal members of society. We see the consequences of this among our pupils.’ This exchange illustrates how educators brought different historical experiences and interpretive frameworks into their understanding of inequality and social justice. While one teacher emphasised inclusive dimensions of Swedish nation‑building, the other highlighted its exclusions and racialised hierarchies. Rather than leading to conflict, the discussion contributed to a broader collective reflection on how historical narratives shape contemporary understandings of racism and belonging. In this sense, anti‑racist work was sustained not only through shared commitments but also through ongoing dialogue and critical engagement among staff.
Challenges in Anti‑Racist Work in Schools
Internalised racism and the reproduction of racial hierarchies emerged as recurring challenges across both schools. While some examples reflected internalised racism in the stricter sense described by Pyke (2010), such as pupils expressing dissatisfaction with their skin colour or appearance, other examples concerned the reproduction of racial hierarchies and group boundaries within and between racialised groups (see also Kohli 2014). Internalised racism has significant consequences for young people: it can negatively affect their self‑esteem, their perceptions of their families and communities and their performance in school. It may also manifest in attitudes directed against themselves, their own racial group or other marginalised groups (Pyke 2010).
In the empirical material analysed here, some examples reflected such forms of internalisation, while others illustrated the broader reproduction of racial hierarchies and group boundaries within racialised communities. These included pupils expressing dissatisfaction with their appearance, the use of racist language among pupils and parental discouragement of friendships across perceived group boundaries.
Aghim, the school psychologist at Sunfield School, regularly speaks with pupils about difficulties they encounter both inside and outside school. ‘Some talk about their dislike of their hair or skin colour’, he explains, adding that such conversations remain confidential. He raises recurring issues with his colleagues, which sometimes leads to lectures or thematic projects.
Alva, a social studies teacher, recounts how staff became aware that pupils were using the N‑word in everyday interactions, particularly towards students of Somali background. In response, the school initiated a project on the history of the term. Pupils explored its links to slavery, oppression and racial hierarchies. As Alva writes in the project’s foreword: ‘White Americans claimed to believe in the Enlightenment ideal of equality, yet they still practised slavery […]. To make this contradiction seem acceptable, they invented the theory that Black people were naturally less intelligent.’ Through this work, pupils came to understand racism as a tool for justifying oppression.
Aghim also notes that some parents had forbidden friendships across the ‘colour line’, particularly between their children and pupils of Somali descent. He raised the issue at a parents’ meeting, which led to ‘some heated discussions’. He emphasises that adults’ attitudes at home strongly shape pupils’ views and behaviours.
At Birka School, Bengt, an English teacher, similarly observes that racist language is used among pupils. ‘They say things like, “Hey, you – the Kurd, the Arab“, and even use the N‑word’, he notes. When challenged, pupils often respond, ‘It was just a joke’. However, Bengt interprets this as a form of power play rather than harmless humour. In response, staff adopted a zero‑tolerance approach, emphasising that freedom of speech does not include the right to insult others.
Taken together, these examples illustrate how internalised racism operates across both peer interactions and family contexts, posing complex challenges for anti‑racist work in schools. Rather than viewing racism solely as something imposed from outside racialised communities, the findings suggest that anti‑racist work must also address how racial hierarchies can be reproduced within everyday relationships and interactions. In this sense, educators sought not only to challenge racist attitudes but also to create opportunities for critical reflection on the social processes through which such hierarchies are normalised.
A second challenge concerns external pressure from far‑right groups, which target schools through media criticism, social media campaigns and the spread of rumours and hate. Such pressures illustrate how anti‑racist work is shaped not only by dynamics within schools but also by broader political struggles over race, migration and national belonging.
Tara, headteacher at Sunfield School, identifies the current polarised political climate as a major concern. As she explains, ‘our school […] has become a target for far‑right social media’, particularly because of its commitment to anti‑racist practices. She adds ‘following a school shooting in which several people from racialised minority backgrounds were killed or injured, we introduced additional security measures’ and emphasises that ‘the constant hate propaganda from these groups is causing concern among both staff and pupils’.
At the same time, Tara notes that the school’s anti‑racist work is grounded in official policies, which state that schools ‘have a duty to counteract all expressions of racism’ and ensure that pupils understand ‘what racism can look like […] at school and in society’ (Skolverket 2023). These examples suggest that anti‑racist initiatives may become sites of political contestation, particularly in contexts where issues of migration, ethnicity and national identity are highly polarised. As Gillborn (2005) argues, efforts to challenge racism in education are often met with resistance from actors invested in maintaining existing social hierarchies.
The final challenge identified in our data concerns disagreements among staff. As Ahmad, the welfare officer at Sunfield School, reflects: ‘Most of those working at this school are committed to the dominant school culture, but not all teachers who come here share the same perspective. Some are attracted by it, and most stay, though a few leave. To be honest, even among those who stay, their understanding of social justice is not the same, and this can create tensions at times.’ At the same time, he emphasises that all staff are ‘caring and hardworking educators’ who share a commitment to acting in the best interests of the school’s pupils, who have fewer resources than many of their peers in more affluent areas.
Taken together, these examples suggest that anti‑racist work does not require complete agreement among staff on all historical, political or pedagogical questions. Rather, anti‑racist initiatives are shaped through ongoing discussions and negotiations concerning how inequality, exclusion and social justice should be understood, interpreted and addressed. In this sense, disagreement can be seen not only as a challenge but also as a reflection of the complex and contested nature of anti‑racist work. At the same time, the examples indicate that such differences can be accommodated when staff share a broader commitment to the well‑being and educational success of their pupils. The findings therefore suggest that anti‑racist work is not implemented through consensus alone but is continuously negotiated through collegial discussions about history, inequality and social justice.
Overall, these challenges highlight the complexity of implementing anti‑racist work in school contexts shaped by both internal dynamics and external pressures. The findings illustrate what CES conceptualises as the tension between structural constraints and possibilities for agency. Despite facing internalised racism, political hostility and disagreements among staff, educators sought to create and sustain ‘spaces of possible action’ (Apple 2013) through which anti‑racist initiatives could be developed and maintained.
Conclusions
From a CES perspective, our findings show how anti‑racist educational practices can create ‘spaces of possible action’ (Apple 2013) within ordinary school settings. Through practices that raise critical awareness, draw on pupils’ lived experiences and promote empowerment and collective participation, educators sought to challenge racism and inequality in everyday school life. In this respect, these practices stand in clear contrast to colour‑blind approaches, which assume that equal treatment can be achieved without recognising how racism and structural inequalities shape pupils’ lived experiences.
Drawing on data from these two schools, located in disadvantaged and segregated urban areas, we show how educators have utilised ‘spaces of possible action’ (Apple 2013) to raise awareness, empower students and equip them with the skills needed to confront racism in their everyday lives, both now and in the future. The findings also resonate with Newman’s (2012) emphasis on agency within constraint. Rather than challenging dominant structures from outside, educators worked within existing institutional settings to create openings for empowerment, participation, and social change.
In both schools, anti‑racist work is integrated into everyday teaching and is both grounded in and adapted to pupils’ lived experiences and prior knowledge. Rather than treating racism as an abstract or distant issue, it is addressed as a structural phenomenon shaping pupils’ and their families’ lives. In this way, pupils develop the ability to recognise how dominant social norms produce exclusion and unequal opportunities.
At the same time, pupils are offered support in dealing with racist harassment. Teachers listen to pupils’ experiences and work with them to develop strategies for responding to racism in everyday life.
These practices are further strengthened through strategic alliances (Anyon 2014) between schools, families and community actors, including civil society organisations and local media. Such collaborations extend anti‑racist work beyond the school context.
However, this work is not without challenges. These include internalised racism, the reproduction of racial hierarchies between differently racialised groups and occasional disagreements among staff. Our findings suggest that anti‑racist work in such settings must also address inter‑group dynamics and the reproduction of racial hierarchies among differently racialised groups, rather than assuming a simple opposition between ‘racist’ and ‘racialised’ actors (Pyke 2010).
Although it has become increasingly difficult for dedicated teachers in segregated Swedish schools to pursue such initiatives due to a political climate marked by far‑right hostility towards both migrant‑background youth and anti‑racist educators, our study shows that these ‘spaces of possible action’ persist – smaller, more constrained and harder to access yet still present (Newman 2012).
Critics of CES argue that such small‑scale and unstable practices cannot transform or fundamentally undermine the structural inertia of capitalist, class‑based and racialised societies (Marsh 2011). This critique is valid in that the initiatives described in this article are limited in scale and unlikely to bring about ‘revolutionary’ change in existing structures of racism and inequality. However, as Apple (2013) argues, they represent ‘spaces of possible action’ – cracks in the dominant order through which alternative, democratic and anti‑racist educational practices can emerge. These limited spaces constitute real opportunities for resistance and transformative practice within dominant structures. In a Gramscian sense, they contribute to the production of ‘counter‑hegemonic’ knowledge (Giroux 2005) and challenge dominant discourses by giving voice to alternative perspectives. In this way, such grassroots anti‑racist practices can inspire educators working in similarly situated schools. At the same time, because racism takes different forms across contexts and settings, such initiatives must be adapted to the specific conditions of each school and thus point to context‑sensitive pathways for advancing anti‑racist work in education.
The schools examined in this article are those in which the vast majority of pupils have immigrant and working‑class backgrounds. As research shows, racial dynamics and effective anti‑racist practices vary across contexts. For example, in schools where the majority of pupils are white and middle‑class, racialised pupils often constitute a minority (Delgado & Stefancic 2017). For this reason, anti‑racist work necessarily involves a range of strategies and goals for change, each tailored to its particular context. Nevertheless, the practices presented in this paper can serve as sources of inspiration that may be adapted to different local school contexts.
Competing Interests
The authors have no competing interests to declare.