Ivy Lyons

This is a constantly changing, updated, revised, and revised again document. It marks a teaching philosophy in flux, focused on joy, health, and the wellness necessary to learn comfortably and confidently.

As a queer Black media scholar, my teaching philosophy is rooted in trauma-informed pedagogy, critical race pedagogy, and an “upgrading” assessment framework (my lighthearted term for ungrading, as advocated by UMD’s TLTC). I strive to cultivate a classroom that is compassionate, inclusive, and intellectually daring. This means acknowledging students’ lived experiences (especially trauma and marginalization), centering voices traditionally left out of academia, and focusing on growth over punitive grading. In practice, my journalism and media courses become collaborative learning communities where empathy, equity, and critical inquiry intersect – with a dash of humor and pop culture for good measure. Below, I outline how these pedagogical commitments translate into concrete strategies for teaching in journalism, media, and communications.

Trauma-Informed Teaching: Safety, Care, and Empowerment

Trauma-informed pedagogy starts with a simple truth: students learn best when they feel safe and supported. I recognize that many learners carry unseen burdens – from personal loss to racial trauma – that can impede their ability to focus and engage. Rather than avoid difficult topics, I remove barriers to learning by fostering an environment of trust, transparency, and flexibility. As Carello and Butler (2015) note, the goal of a trauma-informed approach is not to become a therapist or to water down content, but to change the learning environment so that challenging material can be approached without retraumatization. In my classes, this translates to clear communication of expectations, predictable routines, and a classroom tone that balances seriousness with warmth. (Yes, we address heavy issues like violence and discrimination in media – but we also find moments to laugh, breathe, and regroup, because healing and learning go hand in hand.)

I design my courses around five core principles of trauma-informed teaching: ensuring safety, acknowledging trauma, maximizing choice, encouraging collaboration, and prioritizing empowermented.

In practical terms, these principles lead to several strategies:

• Building a safe and inclusive climate: On day one, my students and I co-create community agreements to establish respect, confidentiality, and support. I also invite (but never force) students to share how their identities or experiences shape their learning needs. This helps validate their whole selves in our space, aligning with bell hooks’ idea that education as the practice of freedom must honor the “whole student” (mind, heart, and soul). My role as an instructor is to model vulnerability and empathy – for instance, by acknowledging difficult current events and giving time to process – so that students know it’s okay to be human in my class.
• Transparency and predictable structure: Trauma can make the world feel chaotic; I counter this by keeping my course organization crystal-clear. Every assignment comes with detailed instructions and rubrics, and I regularly recap “what’s next” so nothing comes as a harsh surprise. Research shows that when students know what is expected of them and why, they can focus on learning rather than anxieties about the unknown. Something as simple as a weekly roadmap or a quick check-in at the start of class (“Today we’ll cover X, which connects to last class by Y”) provides a reassuring structure. This predictability builds trust and frees students to engage more deeply.
• Choice and flexibility: A cornerstone of trauma-informed practice is giving students agency over their learning whenever possible. In my media courses, students often can choose topics for projects that resonate with their interests or backgrounds. I might offer multiple format options for a final assignment – for example, a student can write an essay or produce a short podcast with a transcript – to let them play to their strengths and creative voices. Likewise, I adopt flexible deadline policies and an automatic “grace token” system for extensions when life happens. These approaches not only accommodate students in crisis, but also reinforce that I trust them to make decisions about their own learning. Consistently, I’ve found that when students have choices, their engagement and investment in the work soars.
• Collaboration and community care: In a trauma-aware classroom, learning is not a solo race, but a team effort. I incorporate group discussions, peer feedback workshops, and even co-created study guides, so students can support each other. Collaborative activities (like collectively analyzing how a news story could be reframed to be more sensitive or equitable) help break isolation and build peer trust. I also weave in moments of mindfulness or “brain breaks” during long classes – a short breathing exercise or a 5-minute pause to chat about a light topic – to help everyone reset and reduce stress. These small practices nurture an atmosphere of care. Several students have told me that my class “felt like a community” during tough times – to me, that feedback is as precious as any academic outcome.

Importantly, trauma-informed teaching aligns with anti-racist and social justice goals. I recognize that trauma is often linked to systemic inequities; for example, racism itself inflicts traumatic stress on students of color. Thus, following the insight of Alex Shevrin Venet, I approach trauma-informed education as inherently equity-centered and anti-oppression work. In practice, this means being attentive to cultural trauma and representation – ensuring that course materials don’t reinforce stereotypes or exclusion. It also means I strive to be reflexive about my own identities and biases. As a Black queer educator, I know that my presence can be both a source of comfort (for students who share my identities) and, conversely, might unintentionally trigger distrust in those who have learned to be wary of institutions. I address this by being authentic and approachable (for example, I share relevant anecdotes from my own educational journey) and by explicitly affirming intersectional identities in course examples. My trauma-informed pedagogy is ultimately a pedagogy of kindness and respect, creating a foundation of safety from which rigorous learning can happen. Only when students feel seen and secure can they truly take intellectual risks and grow.

Critical Race Pedagogy: Centering Intersectionality and Justice in Media Education

If trauma-informed teaching provides the warmth, critical race pedagogy provides the fire. I believe that education, especially in journalism and media studies, must confront the realities of power, privilege, and racial injustice head-on. In the spirit of critical race theory (CRT) in education, I treat race and racism as central, enduring features of our social world – not as peripheral topics. This means I don’t save discussions of race or gender for a token week at semester’s end; instead, questions of representation, intersectionality, and equity are woven throughout the course. For example, in a class on media history, we critically examine not only what stories were told, but who was telling them and whose voices were missing. From day one, I encourage students to interrogate mainstream narratives and to recognize how our own positionalities shape our perceptions of media.

In alignment with Gloria Ladson-Billings’ pioneering work to bring CRT into education, I see the classroom as a place to name and challenge racial inequities rather than pretend to be “color-blind”. A critical race pedagogy in my context involves several key practices:

• Inclusive and counter-hegemonic content: I carefully curate course materials to include scholars and creators of color, LGBTQ+ voices, and perspectives from the Global South, alongside the traditional canon. Journalism and media as fields have historically marginalized certain communities, so I make it a point to feature readings on (and by) Black Twitter activists, Indigenous filmmakers, queer representation in TV, and more. This content choices send a clear message: knowledge is not neutral, and we must value knowledge from the margins. When students see their own communities reflected in the syllabus, it validates their identities and fosters greater engagement. At the same time, all students benefit by gaining a fuller understanding of media’s role in upholding or contesting social hierarchies.
• Critical analysis of power and narratives: In class discussions, we regularly analyze media through a critical lens. I often ask students to bring in a current news headline or a viral meme and then guide a Socratic dialogue about it: What assumptions are baked into this piece? Who is portrayed as an authority or expert, and who is absent? How might this story change if told from a Black, Latinx, or queer perspective? This approach is inspired by the CRT tenet of counter-storytelling, which emphasizes elevating stories and truths from marginalized groups to challenge dominant narratives. For instance, after noticing that mainstream coverage of a local protest centered police voices, my class worked on creating a “counter-news story” that foregrounded the protestors’ perspectives. This exercise was inspired by Sonya M. Alemán’s pedagogy of the counter-news-story, an approach that engages student journalists of color in producing activist narratives to offset the biased frames often seen in mainstream news. Such activities not only teach critical media literacy but also empower students as potential change agents in media industries.
• Classroom as counterspace: I aim to make our classroom itself a “counterspace” – a learning environment that challenges the typical power dynamics of academia and validates experiential knowledge. Practically, this means encouraging students to bring their full identities and experiences into discussions. I invite them to share personal observations of bias in media or to draw connections between theory and their own lives. We critically reflect on our discussions: Who is speaking? Who feels silenced? By openly talking about these dynamics, we work to disrupt them. I also practice shared power where feasible: for example, letting students have input on discussion norms, or co-leading a class session on a topic they’re passionate about. This echoes bell hooks’ notion that engaged pedagogy requires teachers to relinquish a bit of the traditional control and learn with students in a mutual process of critical reflection. The result is that students feel ownership of the class and see it as a space where their voices matter – especially those voices that are too often marginalized.
• Intersectional awareness: True to a critical race pedagogical approach, I emphasize that race is not isolated from other identities. Following Kimberlé Crenshaw’s concept of intersectionality, we examine how race intersects with gender, class, sexuality, and ability in media representations. For example, in a lesson on news coverage, we might analyze how Black women are represented differently than Black men or white women, combining racial and gender lenses. I share scholarship from Black feminist thought and queer of color critique to enrich these discussions, demonstrating that anti-racist pedagogy must also be feminist, queer-inclusive, and class-conscious. My own identity positions me well to speak to the interplay of racism and homophobia in media; I often draw on examples like the portrayal of LGBTQ+ people of color in television, facilitating dialogue on why certain stereotypes persist. By modeling an intersectional analytic approach, I encourage students to move beyond one-dimensional thinking and appreciate the complex, layered nature of identity and oppression.

Ultimately, critical race pedagogy in my classroom is about praxis – reflection and action. It’s not enough that students intellectually grasp terms like “systemic racism” or “implicit bias”; I also prompt them to consider how we can transform media and communication practices toward justice. Class projects often have a real-world orientation: students might create a media campaign highlighting an underreported issue in a marginalized community or develop a plan to improve diversity in a student publication. These projects operationalize critical theory into tangible outputs. My hope is that by experiencing a classroom grounded in critical race principles, students will carry forward a commitment to equity and representation in their future careers as journalists, filmmakers, scholars, and citizens.

And yes, we manage to have fun with it – our discussions can be lively and even humorous. I’ve found that a bit of pop culture humor (say, dissecting a satirical Daily Show clip) can make critical analysis more accessible without diluting its seriousness. The “lighthearted but scholarly” tone I aim for is deliberate: it lowers defenses, builds camaraderie, and shows that critical learning can be joyful. In a media classroom, this vibe is key to keeping students engaged while we tackle uncomfortable truths.

“Upgrading” Assessment: Ungrading for Growth and Equity

One of the most transformative shifts in my teaching practice has been moving away from traditional grading to an ungrading/“upgrading” framework. Drawing on guidance from UMD’s Teaching and Learning Transformation Center, I implement alternative grading strategies that focus on feedback, revision, and student self-reflection, rather than on high-stakes tests or arbitrary point accumulation. I jokingly call it “upgrading” because the goal is to upgrade my students’ learning experiences – and their skills – without the stress of constant judgement. This approach directly supports trauma-informed and critical pedagogies: it reduces the fear and anxiety many students (especially those from underrepresented backgrounds) feel about grades, and it challenges the power imbalances and biases inherent in traditional grading systems.

Why ungrading? Research shows that when students receive both a grade and written feedback, they often ignore the feedback and fixate on the grade. Moreover, grades can undermine intrinsic motivation; students become more focused on avoiding failure than on genuinely engaging with ideas. I want my students to be intellectually curious media practitioners, not point-chasers. Traditional grading can also inadvertently perpetuate inequities – for instance, assessment methods may favor those who already come in with certain privileges or prior preparation. By contrast, ungrading offers a more equitable, learning-centered path. It aligns with my belief in meeting students where they are and helping them grow from there, rather than sorting them by a one-size-fits-all metric.

In practical terms, my “upgrading” framework includes the following elements:

• Extensive feedback in lieu of grades: For most assignments, especially drafts and projects, I provide detailed qualitative feedback addressing the strengths and areas for improvement, but no letter grade. My feedback is structured to be kind, specific, and prompt, so that students can act on it. For example, on a news article draft I might praise the compelling headline and lead, suggest expanding quotes from certain sources, and pose questions about the context. Students then revise their work based on this input. This echoes the practice of professional newsrooms (editorial feedback loops) more than the typical classroom does, making the learning experience more authentic to journalism while also fostering a growth mindset.
• Student self-assessment and reflection: I invite students to assess their own learning through periodic reflections and conferences. At midterm and end-of-term, each student submits a self-evaluation discussing what they’ve learned, how they’ve improved, and what challenges they faced. We then have a one-on-one conversation to discuss their progress and collaboratively determine a fair grade if one is required for the transcript. Often, I’ll ask questions like “Which assignment are you most proud of, and why?” or “Looking back, what would you do differently on that media project?” These reflections encourage meta-cognition and help students recognize their own development. It’s common for students to be more honest and hard on themselves than any teacher would be! My role is to celebrate their successes, point out growth I’ve observed (e.g. “I’ve noticed your analyses became more nuanced and you incorporated readings more effectively over time”), and ensure they give themselves due credit. By the end, the grade is less of a surprise and more of a mutual agreement, one that students feel has been earned through a transparent process.
• Revision and resubmission: Mistakes and failures are powerful teachers. In my courses, students typically have opportunities to revise major projects after receiving feedback. Instead of penalizing a rough first attempt, I view it as a draft to build upon. For instance, if a student’s first video project has technical issues and unclear storytelling, they can meet with me to review feedback and then resubmit an improved version. This “iterative grading” approach reinforces that learning is a process. It also aligns with trauma-informed practice by decoupling the fear of failure from the learning process – students know that one misstep won’t doom their grade, so they are more willing to take creative risks and challenge themselves. Ultimately, I care more that they master the skill (even if it takes two or three tries) than I do about calibrating which students did it perfectly on the first try.
• Labor-based or contract grading elements: In some courses, I have experimented with labor-based grading, where students earn credit for the effort and completion of work, not an instructor’s subjective judgment of its quality. I might set up a simple contract (e.g. complete all five major assignments and attend at least 80% of classes to earn a B; do X additional project for an A). This system, informed by scholarship on equitable grading, can reduce bias and reward persistence. I always allow room for revision within this system as well, so it’s not merely about doing the bare minimum but about continually improving. The effect is that students feel in control of their grade outcome and focus on doing the work rather than on my evaluation. One student reflected that this approach “let me breathe and actually enjoy writing articles again,” which to me underscores how freeing it can be when we remove the punitive cloud of constant grading.

Embracing ungrading has required me to clearly communicate my rationale to students (since it’s still novel to many). I take time to discuss how traditional grades may not reflect learning and to assure them that this approach is not “easier” but more meaningful. I’ve found that being lighthearted about it – for example, I joke that “Points are made up and the credits don’t matter… much like an episode of Whose Line Is It Anyway?” – helps ease students’ anxieties. Once they understand that I’m on their side, and that the goal is their improvement, not catching them out, they usually embrace the responsibility and freedom that come with an ungraded system.

Notably, this upgrading/ungrading philosophy connects back to my critical race and trauma-informed commitments. It helps dismantle hierarchical power (I’m not the ultimate judge; students become active agents in assessment) and it humanizes the learning process. It also allows me to be more responsive to each student’s context – if a student is working two jobs or struggling with health issues, ungrading gives the flexibility to adjust deadlines or workload without the baggage of “late penalties.” In a sense, it is an anti-racist, anti-ableist pedagogical choice: it recognizes that our standard measures of “merit” are often entangled with privilege. By adopting alternative assessments, I aim to create a more level playing field where all students can succeed through effort and growth.

Engaging Digital Media and Embracing Representation

In teaching journalism and communications, I take full advantage of our digital age to engage students – while also critically examining the digital media landscape. My pedagogy leverages technology in service of the above philosophies. For example, digital storytelling assignments are a staple in my courses. I might ask students to create a short video essay or a multimedia web article on a social issue of their choice. This not only builds digital literacy, but it also allows students to inject their personal voices and cultural backgrounds into the work, furthering representation. One student produced a podcast about the portrayal of mental health in Black communities, blending interview clips, music, and analysis – a project that exemplified how digital tools empower students to tell counter-narratives that matter to them.

I encourage students to critically analyze social media and online content as part of our curriculum. We often have class exercises like dissecting trending Twitter hashtags or examining TikTok activism, linking them to concepts of narrative, audience, and power. These discussions resonate with students’ lived digital experiences and illuminate how concepts from critical race media theory play out in real time. By bringing platforms like Instagram or YouTube into the classroom (and yes, sometimes even memes), I meet students where they are, which increases engagement. The tone stays scholarly – we use academic theories to parse these media – but the material feels relevant and immediate. This approach aligns with the University of Maryland TLTC’s push for innovative teaching practices that adapt to new technologies while keeping learner needs at the center. My students learn to see themselves not just as passive consumers of digital media, but as active, critical participants who can question algorithms, identify bias in online content, and produce media that reflects their values.

Representation in academia is not just about curriculum content – it’s about who is in the room and how we all show up. As a Black queer academic, I am mindful of the significance of representation on multiple levels. I openly embrace my standpoint and experiences in class, whether that’s mentioning how my grandmother’s storytelling inspired my love of narrative or acknowledging challenges I faced navigating predominantly white institutions. I want students to know that I am a work in progress too, and that scholarship is not an ivory tower but a living, diverse human endeavor. I also encourage students from underrepresented groups to consider pursuing their own research or creative projects, offering mentorship and connecting them with resources when possible. In small but meaningful ways – like highlighting alumni of color who’ve succeeded in media careers or bringing in guest speakers from diverse backgrounds – I aim to demystify academia and media industries and show that there is a place for marginalized voices.

Finally, I stay committed to ongoing learning and transformation in my teaching. Pedagogy is never a fixed recipe; it’s something I continually “upgrade” through reflection, student feedback, and engagement with the scholarship of teaching and learning. I regularly attend workshops (often through TLTC) on topics like anti-racist pedagogy, universal design for learning, and digital pedagogy, to refine my practice with current best practices. This reflective openness is part of my scholarly voice – I consider my classroom a laboratory for pedagogical innovation, where theories of trauma-informed and critical race education are tested, and where I learn from my students as much as they learn from me.

In summary, my teaching philosophy centers on equity, empathy, and empowerment. Whether through creating a trauma-sensitive classroom, interrogating media through a critical race lens, or reimagining assessment, I seek to ensure that every student is not only included but valued and challenged to grow. And while we tackle serious social issues and intellectual tasks, I never lose sight of the joy in learning – the creative discovery, the a-ha moments, even the comedic relief that punctuates a tough week. My hope is that students leave my courses not just with stronger skills in journalism and media, but with a deeper understanding of themselves and the world, a sense of their own agency, and the confidence that their voices and stories matter. In essence, I teach in the service of transformation – of my students, of the media landscape, and ultimately of society – guided by the belief that education at its best is a practice of freedom, a path toward a more just and compassionate world.

References (Chicago Style)

• Alemán, Sonya M. 2014. “Reimagining Journalism Education through a Pedagogy of Counter-News-Story.” Review of Education, Pedagogy & Cultural Studies 36 (2): 109–126.
• Carello, Janice, and Lisa D. Butler. 2015. “Practicing What We Teach: Trauma-Informed Educational Practice.” Journal of Teaching in Social Work 35 (3): 262–278.
• Carroll, Chris. 2025. “5 Ways the Pandemic Transformed Teaching and Learning.” Maryland Today (UMD News), March 12, 2025.
• hooks, bell. 1994. Teaching to Transgress: Education as the Practice of Freedom. New York: Routledge.
• Ladson-Billings, Gloria, and William F. Tate. 1995. “Toward a Critical Race Theory of Education.” Teachers College Record 97 (1): 47–68.
• Schinske, Jeffrey, and Kimberly Tanner. 2014. “Teaching More by Grading Less (or Differently).” CBE—Life Sciences Education 13 (2): 159–166.
• University of Maryland Teaching & Learning Transformation Center (TLTC). n.d. “Alternative Grading Strategies.” Accessed May 12, 2025.
• American University Center for Teaching, Research & Learning. 2021. “Trauma-Informed Pedagogy Guide.” Last modified September 7, 2021.
• Venet, Alex Shevrin. 2021. Equity-Centered Trauma-Informed Education: Transforming Classrooms, Shifting School Practices. New York: W.W. Norton.