A reflection on objects, identity, and the power of symbols in “Educating for Social Change”
When Mukwa Mussayet suggested “The Object I Carry” assignment for one of my classes. I thought Educating for Social Change course would be the class I would try with students. I knew immediately what I would share. Though I carry a small trident pendant daily, for this assignment I brought something far more precious—my grandfather’s trident that my uncle had brought to me in Canada. This larger, weathered symbol carried decades of history in its worn metal surface.
As I listened to students share their objects during our check-in reflections, I was struck by the profound diversity of meaning that simple items could hold. One student spoke of her ceremonial drum, gifted at a Sweat Lodge, representing spiritual belonging and healing. Another student shared her annotated copy of Tess of the d’Urbervilles, a reminder that she is “smart, valid, and deserving.” One student showed her graduation cap, symbolizing triumph over barriers that once told her she’d never succeed in mainstream education.
Each object carried layers of personal meaning, yet each could be perceived so differently by others. The drum might be seen as cultural appropriation by some, or as exclusionary to those not invited into Indigenous ceremony. The book might represent educational privilege. The graduation cap might seem ordinary to those who’ve never faced systemic barriers to learning.
Then there was my grandfather’s trident.
For me, this weathered symbol represents not just everything my ancestors fought for, but a direct connection to my grandfather’s generation—those who lived through Soviet oppression, who hid their identity and language to survive, who passed down our culture in whispered stories and hidden symbols. My uncle’s journey to bring this to me in Canada represents the diaspora’s role in preserving what was nearly destroyed at home. It connects me to the Social GRACES of ethnicity and ancestry, linking me through my grandfather’s hands to generations who carried this symbol when doing so meant imprisonment or death. It represents volya—not just political freedom, but the deeper concept of self-determination, the right to be who you are without apology.
But I know how others see it. In Russia, possessing this symbol can mark you for persecution. During Soviet times, displaying the trident was grounds for arrest. Today, in occupied territories, it remains a death sentence. What gives me pride and belonging is, to occupying forces, a symbol so threatening that those who carry it must be eliminated—not just killed, but erased, so the idea of Ukrainian freedom cannot spread.
This duality fascinated me as I observed the classroom dynamic. One student’s Zimbabwean flag bracelet sparked similar reflections—a source of cultural pride that might be read as political resistance by some. One student’s eagle feather carried sacred Indigenous meaning while potentially being dismissed as “less superior” by those who don’t understand Indigenous spirituality. Another female student inherited gold and challenged patriarchal structures, potentially appearing materialistic to others.
What struck me most was how these objects served as micro-interventions against oppression. Just as one student’s inherited gold challenged gender inequalities in Punjabi culture, my grandfather’s trident challenged narratives that deny Ukrainian existence. Just as another student’s bracelet helps her “claim space” in predominantly white Canadian settings, my grandfather’s trident claimed space for Ukrainian identity in a world that has repeatedly tried to erase it.
The assignment revealed something profound about symbols and power. Objects that represent freedom to the oppressed are precisely the objects that occupiers fear most. My grandfather’s trident terrifies those who seek to control Ukraine because it represents something they cannot destroy—the idea that people have the right to determine their own destiny. My uncle’s act of bringing it to me in Canada was itself an act of preservation, ensuring that even in diaspora, these symbols of resistance survive.
As one student shared her stuffed tiger, representing inner child healing, and another displayed her sisterhood tattoo, I realized we were all carrying objects that challenged dominant narratives in some way. The tiger resisted societal pressure to “grow up” and abandon emotional needs. The tattoo celebrated family bonds in a society that often devalues such connections.
Each object told a story of resistance—quiet, personal, but no less powerful. In our classroom, these symbols created a space where different forms of belonging could coexist, where privilege and oppression could be examined honestly, where the very act of sharing our meaningful objects became an educational tool for social change.
I am grateful to Mukwa Musayett for suggesting this assignment. It helped me understand that education for social change happens not just through grand gestures, but through these intimate moments of sharing what matters to us most. When I hold my grandfather’s trident, I’m not just carrying a symbol—I’m carrying his memories, my uncle’s journey to preserve them, and the hopes of those who died for volya. I’m preparing the next generation to understand why some symbols are worth dying for, and others are worth living for.
In our diverse classroom, surrounded by drums and books, graduation caps and wedding rings, bracelets and tattoos, I learned that the objects we carry tell the stories of who we are, who we’ve been, and who we hope to become. They are our quiet acts of rebellion, our claims to space, our declarations of belonging in a world that doesn’t always welcome us.
And sometimes, they are our reminders that freedom—volya—is not just a political concept, but a deeply personal one, carried in the small things we hold close to our hearts. Now as I will teach about social GRACES, privilege and oppression I plan to incorporate the object I carry check in reflection assignments to remind students that sharing stories is one way to spread love, care and share and fight trauma, indifference and greed. We will keep learning!
Written in honor of all students who shared their objects and stories, and in memory of those who died carrying symbols of freedom.
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