We are grateful to Aurra Startup and panelists for helping us deepen our thinking around what abolitionist leadership entails and making connections between ideas that are important to us.
By: Aurra Startup
What might it mean to lead towards restoration, love and liberation?
How can we challenge systems built on punishment and exclusion, and instead create spaces where healing, accountability and care have ample space and opportunity to take root?
I continue to sit with these (existential) questions from different angles, this time considering what it might mean for us to embody abolitionist leadership and how we might strive towards it. Unfortunately, there’s no five-star recipe to become the ‘perfect’ abolitionist leader. However, the process might involve a variation of the following ingredients: a container to hold what needs to be held in the moment, a cup of love, a tablespoon of hope, 2 teaspoons of community and an abundance of care. Mix these ingredients with slowness and grace, place them in your heart for a lifetime, and perhaps– just perhaps, you’ll be fortunate enough to feel the reverberations of love. It’s a process that takes time. As we journey inward toward understanding ourselves, we also move toward collective and individual healing. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the taste of justice we’re seeking.
Through my experience, this continues to be a process of (un)learning and re-learning through an intention of prioritizing restoration, love, and liberation. Notably, this work is deeply personal. Growing up, I witnessed how carceral systems extend themselves beyond the physical realm of prisons, and permeate the lives of families, friends and wider communities of folks who have been incarcerated. These experiences continue to curate a curiosity around notions of justice and how to instead walk alongside people who have been harmed and have caused harm (think of this relationship as cyclical, where often, folks who cause harm have been harmed, see Cycles of Violence). It is abundantly clear, the systems that we rely on to meet our core needs in society (schools for ‘education’, courts for ‘justice’, banks for ‘wealth’, clinics for ‘health’, etc) often violate our core needs rather than meeting them.
So today we dream together, we brainstorm, we admire, and hold onto the possibilities and contradictions. Abolitionist leadership calls us to reimagine justice beyond punitive logics embedded within contemporary socio-political institutions including prisons, schools, social services and beyond. Instead, it invites us to focus on investing in and striving towards strengthening essential infrastructure as a way to support and enhance collective well-being through intentional community care. Abolition, as Angela Davis (2003) describes, is not simply the dismantling of harmful systems but a framework (a lens for dreaming) that advocates for a fundamental transformation in how society conceptualizes and approaches justice at its’ core.
What are we seeking to abolish?
To better understand the foundations of abolitionist approaches, it is important to understand carceral logics underlying systems of control that operate across multiple institutions to maintain social order. These “logics” reveal how structures of surveillance and punishment uphold social hierarchies, especially within policing, schooling, and social services. These orientations operate through institutionalized forms of monitoring and punishment, often disproportionately targeting non-dominant groups (i.e. BIPOC communities, visibly religious identities, folx of lower SES, members of the rainbow communities, newcomer youth, etc.) to uphold a hierarchical social structure that privileges white, dominant groups. As scholars like Davis (2003) and Gilmore (2007) highlight, carceral systems are not merely tools of discipline but mechanisms that enforce racial and economic hierarchies, deeply embedded in colonial histories and sustained by white supremacist ideologies.
Historically, these systems have maintained control through surveillance and punishment as tools for regulation, positioning non-dominant communities as inherently "criminal" or "undeserving" through a process of dehumanization (Davis, 2003). Kaba and Ritchie (2022) note that policing, as a carceral mechanism, is deeply racialized, developed to contain and control BIPOC and other communities, often justifying this control under the guise of maintaining public safety.
Deeply embedded in the histories of various socio-political institutions, there are many examples of how carceral logics manifest as tools of control. For instance, the historical origins of policing in Canada, the establishment of the North-West Mounted Police (NWMP) were an extension of the colonial government. This policing body served to displace Indigenous communities, enforcing settler control over Indigenous lands (Maynard, 2017). The NWMP’s role in forcibly removing Indigenous communities from their territories and confining them to reserves, exemplifies the control embedded in early policing structures. This historical legacy endures in the ongoing disproportionate targeting of Indigenous and Black communities by law enforcement. For instance, Robyn Maynard (2017) highlights in Policing Black Lives, that while Black Canadians represent only about 3% of the population, they constitute nearly one-third of those killed by police in some regions, highlighting systemic racial bias within law enforcement and judicial practices.
Similarly, these themes around control and dispossession also shaped schooling systems, particularly in the treatment of Indigenous children in the Canadian context and beyond. The establishment of Residential Schools sought to forcibly assimilate Indigenous children, through the forced removal of the ancestral cultural identities and familial ties within Indigenous communities in a state-sanctioned process recognized as cultural genocide (Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada, 2015). These institutions were designed not to “educate” but to control, using punishment and confinement with an agenda to “civilize” Indigenous children. The legacies of these systems persist today through policies like the Sixties Scoop and modern-day foster care, which continue to predominantly target Indigenous families.
Despite this, Indigenous communities have consistently resisted these oppressive systems, embodying power through cultural resurgence and language revitalization efforts. Movements like "Land Back" embody abolitionist principles by challenging colonial property relations and advocating for the return of traditional lands. Land Back is a powerful counter to carceral logics, because of its reclamation of autonomy over land, culture, and self-determination.
In educational settings, zero-tolerance policies and harsh disciplinary actions such as suspensions for minor infractions including tardiness or dress code violations (e.g., suspensions for wearing hoodies) serve to push Black, Indigenous, and other racialized students out of learning environments and into systems of punishment (Chadha et al., 2020; Murray et al., 2023). These disciplinary practices, rather than addressing the root causes of student behaviour or providing support, often escalate minor infractions into significant barriers to educational access and inclusion. Research consistently highlights that punitive measures in schools grossly target Black, Indigenous, and racialized students, pushing them further away from educational opportunities and embedding them within punitive systems (James & Turner, 2017). Disparities in expulsion rates underscore the racialized impact of these policies; for instance, Black students face expulsion rates four times higher than their representation in the overall student population. Similarly, Aboriginal students, who represent only 0.3% of the TDSB student population, make up 1% of all expulsions, reflecting a disproportionate impact rate of 3.3. Conversely, White and East Asian students experience the lowest expulsion rates relative to their population representation, exposing a significant bias in disciplinary practices that disproportionately impacts Black and Indigenous students. These disparities further demonstrate how carceral logics within educational systems contribute to broader structures of racial inequity, positioning marginalized students as subjects of exclusion and control.
The "cradle-to-prison nexus" is a term that describes the systemic and interconnected practices that funnel children from equity-deserving groups, including BIPOC, dis/abled, LGBTQ2S+ and undocumented youth into the criminal legal system. Once young people enter these systems, they face significantly increased chances of future incarceration, leading to diminished educational, employment, and overall life opportunities. In this way, punitive policies do not merely discipline students but actively shape trajectories of disadvantage, closing doors to personal and professional growth.
An example of these carceral practices within schools is the Student Resource Officer (SRO) program, which was removed from various school boards in Ontario, including the Toronto District School Board (TDSB) in 2017 (TDSB, 2017a). Originally presented as a program to enhance school safety, data shows that SROs often disproportionately targeted marginalized students, contributing to the criminalization of youth within educational spaces (TDSB, 2017b). While removing SROs aligned with abolitionist calls for non-punitive education, the lack of alternative support mechanisms illustrates the incomplete nature of this reform, as dismantling harmful systems is only half of the work (Murray et al., 2023). Removing harmful practices without building supportive, community-driven solutions highlights the need for comprehensive, abolitionist approaches to education.
Furthermore, the Prison Industrial Complex (PIC) describes the intersection of government and corporate interests that uphold and expand systems of mass incarceration, relying on surveillance, policing, and imprisonment as solutions to social and economic issues, often framed as crises by political actors (Critical Resistance, 2024). The PIC extends well beyond physical prison walls, encompassing a complex network of government agencies, private industries, and institutions that profit from mass incarceration. Angela Davis (2003) explains that the PIC functions as a capitalist project that aims to economically exploit marginalized groups, through systems like the War on Drugs. These policies have dramatically expanded the prison population in the United States, where approximately 2.3 million people are incarcerated, with an additional 4.5 million under probation or parole supervision (Davis, 2003; Kaba & Ritchie, 2022). This escalation reflects a broader strategy of criminalizing and containing racialized populations to maintain social hierarchies rooted in white supremacy (Davis, 2003; Richie & Martensen, 2019). By framing incarceration as a solution to social and economic crises, the PIC diverts resources away from essential services such as education, healthcare, and housing, which could address the root causes of harm (Gilmore, 2007; Davis, 2003; Kaba & Ritchie, 2022).
An example of this can be seen in spending under the leadership of the Harper government. Harper’s administration made drastic cuts to social programs, particularly in education and non-profit sectors, while simultaneously expanding budgets for prisons and policing. This period marked a significant shift toward punitive measures at the federal level, with funds diverted away from community-based services that could have addressed social determinants of crime, such as poverty and education inequities (Gilmore, 2007; Maynard, 2017). Maynard (2017) argues that such policy decisions create an environment where marginalized communities are under-resourced and over-policed, amplifying cycles of criminalization and surveillance. These disparities reveal the structural priorities that underpin carceral logics, reinforcing the PIC by siphoning resources from social services toward institutional control and confinement.
The economic burden of incarceration highlights the inefficiency of carceral approaches. The Parliamentary Budget Officer (PBO) in Canada estimates that the annual cost of housing a male inmate is approximately $92,000, while the cost for female inmates is about $83,000 (Segel-Brown, 2018). By contrast, investments in social supports such as housing, mental health care, and education require significantly lower expenditures and yield higher long-term social benefits (Davis, 2003; Kaba & Ritchie, 2022). These funds could meaningfully address root issues like homelessness, substance abuse, and educational barriers, creating a preventative approach to social issues that reduces the need for punitive intervention (Murray et al., 2023; Critical Resistance, 2024). Furthermore, Gilmore (2007) argues that redirecting funds from prisons to social supports could break the cyclical nature of incarceration, allowing marginalized communities to benefit from meaningful resources rather than imprisonment. Investing in education, for instance, has been shown to lower crime rates, as increased access to schooling provides individuals with skills and opportunities that reduce their vulnerability to criminalization (Davis, 2003; Richie & Martensen, 2019).
The redirection of resources from punitive systems toward preventive and rehabilitative services could have profound impacts on community health and well-being. Abolitionists argue that allocating funds to mental health support, education, and affordable housing can address the root causes of harm, creating the conditions for safer and more stable communities. Gilmore (2007) and Davis (2003) emphasize that when societies prioritize carceral solutions, they lose the opportunity to build resilient, resourceful communities that can self-sustain without reliance on policing and incarceration. By focusing on resource reallocation, policymakers can shift from a framework of containment to one of community investment, helping dismantle the underlying conditions that fuel cycles of harm and recidivism (Richie & Martensen, 2019).
Abolition is more than the dismantling of carceral systems; it is a transformative approach that challenges entrenched structures of policing, surveillance, and punishment, which disproportionately impact marginalized communities. This concept of abolition confronts the deep-seated racism and colonial foundations underpinning these systems, particularly those that uphold the prison industrial complex (PIC) and institutionalized harm in various sectors. By envisioning and investing in education, mental health, housing, and community-centered social services, abolition offers a framework to address root causes of harm and promote collective well-being (Davis, 2003; Kaba & Ritchie, 2022). In doing so, abolitionists look toward a future where justice, care, and community needs come first, creating a world where everyone can thrive without fear of control or violence.
Abolition as a vision also encompasses frameworks like Restorative Justice (RJ) and Transformative Justice (TJ), which offer alternative approaches to harm. RJ focuses on repairing harm within current systems, providing spaces for dialogue, accountability, and healing, especially for those directly affected by harm. However, RJ also faces criticism for its potential to be co-opted by the same systems it seeks to disrupt (Kaba & Ritchie, 2022). In contrast, TJ goes further, seeking to address not only harm but also the structural inequalities that create it, envisioning communities where harm can be prevented by addressing systemic issues like racism, poverty, and oppression (Winn, 2018). Where RJ helps individuals survive within existing structures, TJ aligns closely with abolition’s goal of building new systems rooted in care and justice.
Notably, abolition often faces skepticism regarding the practicalities of maintaining public safety without police or prisons. Critics worry that without punitive systems, social order and safety would be compromised. However, research indicates that punitive measures often fail to address the root causes of harm, instead perpetuating cycles of punishment and exclusion that particularly impact marginalized communities (Kaba & Ritchie, 2022). Abolitionists argue that true safety is achieved not through surveillance or control but through investing in mental health resources, education, housing, and community-led initiatives that address underlying social issues. Another critique is that abolition appears too idealistic or impractical. Angela Davis (2003) and Ruth Wilson Gilmore (2007) counter that abolition is not about dismantling without a plan but about creating incremental pathways toward a sustainable and just society. Rather than assuming current systems are irreplaceable, abolition invites us to imagine and build structures that prioritize humanity, relationality, and care.
Abolitionist leadership, as described by thinkers like Robert Harvey, integrates both visionary ideals and practical strategies. It calls for leaders to address systemic inequities proactively, developing pathways for healing before harm occurs. This involves creating systems of accountability based on open dialogue and trust, allowing communities to collectively address issues without reverting to punitive measures (Harvey, 2021). Key aspects of abolitionist leadership include power-sharing, especially with those most impacted by policies, and viewing crises as opportunities for transformative change (Harvey, 2021). By doing so, abolitionist leaders model an approach that centers justice and collective care, fostering environments that resist the entrenched carceral logics within institutions.
Embodying abolitionist leadership requires a deep internal shift that informs our daily actions as well as the decisions at a structural level. Abolition is not just a theoretical framework but a way of being that draws from ancestral knowledge embodying values of dignity, justice and compassion. This approach involves cultivating awareness of how carceral logics have infiltrated our ways of being and acting and calls for intentional efforts to resist, disrupt, and subvert these logics. Letting go of entrenched exclusionary practices creates space for new, liberatory possibilities.
Bettina Love (2019) describes abolition as “a way of life,” not merely a social or political stance. This perspective reframes abolition as an ongoing practice of resisting oppression while actively constructing liberatory futures for schools, communities, and society at large. Love encourages engaging in what she calls “freedom dreaming”—asking, “What if we could create something new?” This approach is not only about envisioning change but also about actionable steps to disrupt harmful systems and replace them with structures that genuinely uplift and care for all. Freedom dreaming thus becomes an abolitionist practice that centers joy, community, and healing, making abolition a daily commitment that informs personal and collective actions.
How might we strive towards this?
Embodying abolitionist leadership begins with a fundamental shift in how we think and act, an internal transformation that informs the structures we aim to change. Abolition is not just a theoretical concept; it is a way of living and being, deeply rooted in ancestral knowledge and guided by values of love and justice. As discussed in today’s episode, we are reminded that embodying abolition calls us to disrupt the carceral logics ingrained in our systems and ways of being, and to actively resist practices that normalize exclusion and harm. Only by letting go of these harmful structures can we create space for something new.
To create meaningful change, we must rethink traditional ideas of leadership. Leadership should not be about control or hierarchy but about service and collaboration, investing time, resources, and energy into materially co-creating spaces where harm is reduced and communities thrive. This means listening deeply to the needs identified by those most impacted and aligning our actions to meet those needs. At the same time, we must care for ourselves. Naming the difficulties of this work and prioritizing healing is essential. Undoing the harm caused by carceral logics begins with acknowledging how these structures exist within us and committing to practices of self-care and restoration.
Education, too, must be reimagined. Schools have long been sites of oppression, reinforcing systems of compliance, control, and white supremacy that disproportionately harm queer, disabled, racialized, and undocumented students. In contrast, education holds the promise of connection, growth, and freedom. To unlock this potential, we must center the voices and experiences of marginalized students, hold ourselves accountable within oppressive systems, and resist exclusionary practices.
Abolitionist education asks us to move beyond the confines of traditional schooling. How can we create systems where students feel free to learn and grow? How can we challenge the status quo to foster community, connection, and collective knowledge? This involves imagining education beyond classrooms, into public spaces where generational knowledge can be honoured and shared. It also requires advocating for the reallocation of resources toward practices that nurture, rather than harm, our communities.
Shifting leadership in schools is central to this transformation. Moving away from top-down models, we can embrace restorative approaches that share power, model accountability, and practice repair. Leadership rooted in relationality and mutual care enables educators and students to work collaboratively without reliance on punitive systems. Building these bridges requires courage, love, and a willingness to embrace the messiness of community work.
The work of abolition is bursting with possibility. It invites us to embrace change, invest in our communities, and position humanity, relationality, and compassion at the centre of everything we do.
As Grace Lee Boggs notably reminds us, in order to transform the world, we must first transform ourselves.
Questions for Reflections:
- How can we reimagine and enact abolitionist leadership that dismantles oppressive systems and fosters communities rooted in care, accountability, and justice?
- What is possible when we lead with love and care?
- What if justice was not about punishment, but instead was about making sure that folks in the community have what they need to thrive?
- If you could design a system for safety and justice in your community, what would it look like? How would it feel to live in a world where care is the foundation of justice?
- What would justice look like in your community if it wasn’t tied to punishment?
References
Critical Resistance. (2024). What is the PIC? What is abolition? Critical Resistance. https://criticalresistance.org/about/not-so-common-language/
Davis, A. Y. (2003). Are prisons obsolete? Seven Stories Press.
Davis, A. Y. (2011). The meaning of freedom: And other difficult dialogues. City Lights Publishers.
Fortier, C., Wong, E. H. S., & Rwigema, M. J. (Eds.). (2024). Abolish Social Work (as We Know It). Between the Lines.
Gilmore, R. W. (2007). Golden gulag: Prisons, surplus, crisis, and opposition in globalizing California. University of California Press.
Harvey, R. S. (2021). Abolitionist leadership in schools: Building just communities through the power of love. Routledge.
James, C. E., & Turner, T. (2017). Towards race equity in education: The schooling of Black students in the Greater Toronto Area. York University.
Kaba, M. (2021). We do this 'til we free us: Abolitionist organizing and transforming justice. Haymarket Books.
Kaba, M., & Ritchie, A. J. (2022). No more police: A case for abolition. The New Press.
Love, B. L. (2019). We want to do more than survive: Abolitionist teaching and the pursuit of educational freedom. Beacon Press.
Murray, K., et al. (2023). Reflections on the ethical possibilities and limitations of abolitionist praxis in social work. Social Justice Journal, 45(3), 24–40.
Richie, B. E., & Martensen, K. (2019). Resisting carcerality, embracing abolition: Implications for feminist social work practice. In L. A. Davis, & D. A. Dyer (Eds.), Abolition feminism now: A handbook for liberation (pp. 89–112). AK Press.
Segel-Brown, B. (2018). Update on costs of incarceration. Parliamentary Budget Officer. https://www.pbo-dpb.ca/en/publications/RP-1718-368--update-costs-incarceration--mise-jour-couts-incarceration#:~:text=The%20average%20institution%2Dspecific%20expenditure,cost%20are%20attributable%20to%20custody.
Truth and Reconciliation Commission of Canada. (2015). Canada's residential schools: The history, Part 1, origins to 1939. McGill-Queen’s University Press.
Additional Recommended Resources:
Abolitionist Teaching Network. https://abolitionistteachingnetwork.org/
Asadullah, M., Cortez, C., Holding, G., Said, H., Smith, J., Schick, K., Mudyara, K., Korchak, M., Kimber, N.,
Chatman, L., R. (2020, April 9). Rebel Leadership for our Collective Future. National Equity Project. https://www.nationalequityproject.org/blog/rebel-leadership-for-our-collective-future
Community Justice Initiatives. cjiwr.com/
Jenkins, D. A., & Warren, C. A. (2024). Towards anti-carceral leadership: Remaking public schools to refuse black students’ surveillance, containment, and control. Educational Policy, 38(3), 624-641.
Joe, M., Vaandering, D., Ricciardelli, R., Giwa, S., & Moore, S. Two-eared listening is essential for understanding restorative justice in Canada. The Conversation. https://theconversation.com/two-eared-listening-is-essential-for-understanding-restorative-justice-in-canada-185466
Liberate Ed. https://www.liberatedsel.com/
Movement Memos Podcast. https://kellyhayes.org/movement-memos/
Progressive dystopia: abolition, antiblackness, and schooling in San Francisco. https://www.dukeupress.edu/progressive-dystopia
Shawush, N., & Dyck, S. (2022). Decolonization and Justice : An Introductory Overview. University of Regina OER Publishing Program.
Strategies for Trauma Awareness and Resilience. Cycles of violence. https://emu.edu/cjp/star/docs/cycles-violence.pdf Walk Out Lab. https://www.walkoutlab.com/
Panelist Bios
Aurra Startup (she/her) is a PhD student in York University’s Education program and her research delves into how the conceptualization of restorative justice (RJ) influences its application/practice in school and community-based sessions settings. As a Service Coordinator for Restorative Responses to Harm and Crime (RRHC) with Community Justice Initiatives in Kitchener, Ontario, Aurra bridges theory and practice, supporting individuals and communities affected by experiences of harm and supports individuals with navigating the criminal legal system. This dual role as researcher and RJ practitioner allows her to witness firsthand the impact of restorative practices and navigate the nuanced gaps between theory and application. Aurra is also a Research Assistant with the UnLeading Project.
Dr. Dena Simmons is a lifelong learner, truth-teller, and abolitionist from the Bronx, New York. She is the founder and executive director of LiberatED, an organization that centers radical love, healing, and justice in education and social and emotional learning (SEL) so that all children could live, learn, and thrive in the comfort of their own skin. She is also a visiting professor at the Institute for Racial Justice at Loyola University of Chicago. She is the former Assistant Director of Yale Center for Emotional Intelligence, where she supported schools to use the power of emotions to create a more compassionate and just society. Prior to her work at Yale, Dena served as a middle school educator, teacher educator, diversity facilitator, and curriculum developer. She has been a leading voice on teacher education and has written and spoken across the country about social and racial justice pedagogy, diversity, emotional intelligence, and bullying in K-12 school settings, including the White House, the inaugural Obama Foundation Summit, the United Nations, two TEDx talks, a TED talk on Broadway, and Oprah’s OWN series, Speak Sis. Dr. Simmons has been profiled in Education Week, Edutopia, Learning for Justice, the Huffington Post, NPR, the AOL/PBS project, MAKERS: Women Who Make America, and a Beacon Press Book, Do It Anyway: The New Generation of Activists. Dr. Simmons’ research interests include SEL and its intersection with culturally responsive pedagogy, healing, and justice with the hope of understanding how to foster belonging and collective liberation in K-12 school settings.
Qui Alexander, PhD is a queer, trans, Black Puerto Rican scholar, educator and organizer currently based in Tkaronto. They are an Assistant Professor of Gender, Sexuality and Trans Studies in Curriculum and Pedagogy at OISE, University of Toronto. Their work and scholarship centers queer Black feminist praxis, Black trans studies, transformative justice, abolition and healing justice. Their research focus is on pedagogies of abolitionist praxis in the lived experience of Black trans folks as well as mobilizing queer and trans ways of knowing. Grounded in their extensive experience as a community organizer, Qui views their scholarship as a place to articulate the cultural work they do in relation to their communities. Believing education is a practice of freedom, Qui strives to center personal transformation and healing in every educational space they have the honor to hold and co-create.
Kamil Ahmed (he/him) is a first-generation immigrant and settler from Pakistan who identifies with various communities including Queer and Muslim. Passionate about mutual aid, resource distribution and building communities of care, Kamil is an organizer at Community Fridge KW. He is a photographer, facilitator, music enthusiast, vegetarian, and a big fan of farmers markets.
Skye Bowen is a high school administrator with over 20 years in education. She is a passionate leader and advocate for equity and social justice, working in various roles within her school board. Skye and her husband, Orlando Bowen, dealt with the trauma of Orlando being assaulted by two police officers in a racial profiling incident. Despite this challenge, she continued to mentor students and has been instrumental in creating community partnerships, athletic programs, and leadership opportunities for students. Skye’s experiences teaching in a variety of schools, including teaching in youth corrections, gave her first hand experience on the impact of the school to prison pipeline. This further motivated Skye to advocate for youth in order to address systemic racism and oppressive barriers that exist in the justice and education system. Skye provides training to educational and community leaders in restorative justice from an Afro-Indigenous perspective, focusing on the power and possibilities to shift our thinking and praxis to ensure equitable approaches to restorative justice. She has been married for over 20 years and has three teenage boys, Dante, Justice, and Marcus.
Subini Ancy Annamma is an Associate Professor at Stanford University where her research critically examines the mutually constitutive nature of racism and ableism by positioning multiply-marginalized students as knowledge generators, exploring how they experience and resist intersectional injustice, and imagine a liberatory education. Prior to her doctoral studies, she was a special education teacher in public schools and youth prisons.
