Pedagogy of the Oppressed: Why Freire Still Matters in an Age of Layered Oppressions

Pedagogy of the Oppressed: A Book That Refuses to Age

Some books age politely. Pedagogy of the Oppressed does not. It argues. It provokes. It insists on being reread against the grain of whatever political moment we happen to inhabit. Written in the late 1960s by Brazilian educator Paulo Freire during exile following a military coup, the book emerged from conditions of overt authoritarianism, mass illiteracy, and class violence. Yet more than half a century later, its relevance has not dimmed. If anything, it has sharpened.

This is not a book review in the conventional sense. What follows is not a chapter-by-chapter summary, nor a polite endorsement. Instead, this is an attempt to situate Freire’s work historically, critically engage with its limitations, and—most importantly—trace its relevance across contemporary struggles against oppression: feminism, racial injustice, economic precarity, colonial afterlives, digital surveillance, and the quiet violences of everyday hierarchy.

Freire’s central claim is deceptively simple: oppression is not merely material but pedagogical. Power is reproduced through how people are taught to see themselves, the world, and their supposed place within it. Liberation, therefore, must involve a transformation of consciousness alongside material change. This insight alone places Pedagogy of the Oppressed firmly within any serious conversation about modern activism.

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The Historical Moment That Shaped the Text

Freire’s thinking was forged in the crucible of extreme inequality. In mid‑20th‑century Brazil, literacy was both a political weapon and a gatekeeping mechanism. Illiteracy excluded millions from voting, employment, and civic participation. Teaching adults to read was therefore not a neutral act—it was revolutionary.

Freire understood education as inherently political. There is, he famously argued, no such thing as neutral education. Teaching either domesticates people into accepting the existing order or equips them to critically intervene in it. This framing is essential to understanding why Pedagogy of the Oppressed was embraced by liberation movements across the Global South and viewed with suspicion—or outright hostility—by authoritarian regimes.

The book is steeped in Marxist humanism, existential philosophy, and anti‑colonial thought. But it is also profoundly shaped by Freire’s encounters with peasants, workers, and students who challenged his assumptions. Again and again, Freire emphasises that knowledge does not flow from expert to novice but is co‑created through dialogue rooted in lived experience.

The Banking Model and the Violence of “Neutral” Education

One of Freire’s most enduring contributions is his critique of what he calls the “banking model” of education. In this model, students are treated as empty containers into which knowledge is deposited. Teachers speak; students listen. Teachers know; students receive. Authority is unquestioned.

Freire saw this as a form of violence—not physical, but epistemic. By denying learners agency, curiosity, and critical capacity, banking education trains people to accept hierarchy as natural. It mirrors and sustains oppressive social structures by conditioning obedience.

The alternative Freire proposes—problem‑posing education—reverses this dynamic. Teachers and students become co‑investigators of reality. Learning begins with the concrete conditions of people’s lives: their work, their struggles, their contradictions. From there, critical reflection emerges, not as abstract theory, but as praxis—reflection combined with action.

This distinction remains urgently relevant today. From standardised testing regimes to corporate “skills training,” contemporary education systems often prioritise compliance, productivity, and credentialism over critical thought. Freire helps us see how such systems quietly reproduce inequality while claiming neutrality.

However, contemporary education has not been without reform. Democratic schools decentralise authority; Montessori classrooms cultivate autonomy; inquiry-based models replace rote memorisation with exploration. Yet not all learner-centred education is inherently emancipatory. Freire’s intervention was sharper: he argued that dialogue must be directed toward unveiling structures of domination. Without an explicit analysis of power, even progressive classrooms can reproduce inequality under the banner of innovation. The difference lies not merely in who speaks, but in what is questioned.

Internalised Oppression and the Fear of Freedom

Perhaps the most psychologically incisive sections of Pedagogy of the Oppressed deal with internalised oppression. Freire observed that those subjected to domination often absorb the worldview of their oppressors. Over time, oppression comes to feel inevitable, deserved, even protective.

Freedom, under these conditions, becomes frightening. To be free is to assume responsibility, uncertainty, and risk. As a result, the oppressed may oscillate between resignation and a desire to become oppressors themselves—seeking power rather than transformation.

This analysis resonates powerfully with modern feminist, anti‑racist, and decolonial thought. Internalised misogyny, respectability politics, survivor‑blaming, and the policing of marginalised voices all echo Freire’s insight: domination reproduces itself most effectively when it colonises the imagination.

Feminist and Intersectional Critiques

It would be dishonest to treat Pedagogy of the Oppressed as a flawless text. Feminist scholars have long noted its gendered language and its tendency to speak of “man” as the universal subject of liberation. Early critics argued that Freire insufficiently accounted for gendered, racialised, and sexualised forms of oppression.

Crucially, Freire did not dismiss these critiques. In a mark of a true academic, he welcomed them. In later work, he acknowledged the limits of his earlier language and thinking, modelling the dialogical humility he advocated. This responsiveness matters. It suggests that Freire’s pedagogy is not a closed doctrine but an evolving framework.

From an intersectional perspective, Freire’s core insights remain profoundly useful. Intersectionality teaches us that systems of oppression overlap and reinforce one another. Freire provides a method for making those systems visible—through dialogue, reflection, and collective analysis rooted in lived experience.

In this sense, Freire can be read as a precursor to intersectional activism, even if he did not name it as such. His insistence that people must articulate their own oppression anticipates contemporary movements that centre voice, narrative, and testimony.

Beyond the Classroom: Activism, Organising, and Cultural Power

Although framed as an educational text, Pedagogy of the Oppressed has always exceeded the classroom. Its influence can be traced through grassroots organising, theatre, participatory research, and community‑based activism.

Freire warns repeatedly against vanguardism—the idea that enlightened elites can liberate the masses from above. Liberation, he argues, must be forged with the oppressed, not for them. This is a direct challenge to saviourism, charity‑based activism, and top‑down reform.

In contemporary terms, this critique applies equally to corporate diversity initiatives, NGO‑driven development projects, and performative activism. Without genuine dialogue and shared power, even well‑intentioned efforts risk reproducing the very hierarchies they claim to oppose.

Freire’s emphasis on praxis is particularly important in an era of digital activism. Awareness without action becomes spectacle; action without reflection becomes reckless. Freire insists on holding both together.

Feminist scholars such as bell hooks extended his work into race and gender analysis, while critical pedagogy scholars like Henry Giroux carried it into Western academia. Freire was not a revolutionary mascot; he was a revolutionary method. His legacy lies in how movements learned to name oppression, together.

Relevance in a Neoliberal and Authoritarian Age

Today’s world looks different from Freire’s Brazil, but the architecture of oppression remains familiar. Neoliberalism reframes inequality as personal failure. Surveillance technologies discipline behaviour invisibly. Authoritarianism often arrives wrapped in the language of security, efficiency, or “common sense.”

Education systems increasingly serve market logics rather than human development. Workers are retrained rather than empowered. Citizens are managed rather than engaged. In this context, Freire’s insistence on critical consciousness feels almost subversive.

His work also speaks to movements resisting racialised state violence, gendered exploitation, and colonial legacies. Whether in struggles over housing, healthcare, borders, or bodily autonomy, Freire helps us see how domination operates not only through force, but through meaning‑making.

Pedagogy of the Oppressed: A Living Framework, not a Sacred Text

Pedagogy of the Oppressed endures not because it offers easy answers, but because it asks better questions. Who defines knowledge? Who benefits from silence? What fears keep people compliant? And what would it mean to truly learn from one another?

Freire does not offer a blueprint for liberation. He offers a practice: dialogue rooted in humility, love, and critical hope. That practice remains indispensable for anyone committed to dismantling hierarchies—large or small—wherever they appear.

To read Freire today is not to agree with him uncritically. It is to enter into conversation with him. And in an age defined by noise, distraction, and false neutrality, that invitation may be more radical than ever.

Thank You for Reading!

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