Inquiry Over Indoctrination: Teaching the Truth by Asking the Right Questions
February 10, 2026
February 10, 2026
By Neeley Minton
In Albemarle County, Virginia, just outside Charlottesville, the work of truth-telling in schools carries a particularly deep weight. This is the land of Thomas Jefferson, who authored the Declaration of Independence and enslaved 607 people on his plantation at Monticello during the course of his lifetime. It’s also the land of thriving Black communities who built institutions and wealth in the shadow of segregation. It’s a place where students pass by former plantation sites on their way to school, and where the events of the ‘Unite the Right’ rally in August of 2017 still echo in public discourse. In this historical landscape, teaching students an honest, inclusive account of the past isn’t a political act; it’s a local necessity. Like many places in Virginia, the story of this place demands that we teach students to think critically about whose voices have been heard, whose have been silenced, and how to move forward into a more just future.
As K–12 Social Studies Coordinator for Albemarle County Public Schools, I have the privilege of collaborating with teachers across the division and observing their instruction. In one first grade classroom I visited near the end of last school year, the teacher asked a student who he had most enjoyed learning about in Social Studies. Without hesitation, he replied, “George Inge.”
That name may not be familiar to everyone, but in Charlottesville, George Inge holds deep significance. He owned and operated Inge’s Grocery, a cornerstone of the historic Black neighborhood of Vinegar Hill. This thriving, prosperous community was largely destroyed during Urban Renewal in the 1960s, but the grocery building still stands today. During segregation, Inge sold food and goods to the Black community and even to white hotels—supplying fresh fish to establishments that would not allow him, or other Black patrons, to book a room. When Booker T. Washington visited Charlottesville, he stayed in a room above the store. Our first graders learn about Inge in the context of an inquiry driven by the compelling question, “How can community members take care of each other when life is unfair?” In this way, first grade teachers across our division are meeting standards while centering Black voices and highlighting acts of resistance and agency in the face of injustice.
To me, this isn’t a political act. It’s a necessary act.
In a time when educators are increasingly under scrutiny, the idea of teaching the truth can feel risky. But here’s what I know: we don’t protect students by hiding reality. We protect them by equipping them with the tools to think critically, ask and answer thoughtful questions, and engage in respectful dialogue. And, in my opinion, the best way to do that is through inquiry.
Let’s be clear. Teaching through inquiry isn’t about telling students what to believe. It’s not about politics. It’s about good pedagogy. It’s teaching students how to think, not what to think.
Inquiry is about giving students a compelling question (example: “How can community members take care of each other when life is unfair?”), a range of rich primary sources, and the space to explore, discuss, and reason. It’s about teaching them to weigh evidence, consider multiple perspectives, and form their own conclusions. That’s not indoctrination; that’s education.
In fact, inquiry protects teachers. It shifts the focus from teacher opinions to student thinking. It creates a clear structure: here’s the question, here are the sources, here are the skills we’re building. It shows parents, administrators, and community members that our classrooms are not echo chambers, but places of curiosity and learning.
When critics talk about indoctrination, we often imagine that teachers are standing at the front of the room giving speeches about justice or inequality. Inquiry shifts that image entirely. Through the Inquiry Design Model, an approach to designing curriculum and instruction developed by C3 Teachers, we are leading with compelling questions like, “Was the American Revolution revolutionary for all?”, “How can art be used as a tool for resistance?”, and “Do political parties unite or divide?” These are questions grounded in standards, rooted in content, and open enough to invite genuine analysis and debate.
Compelling questions connect the past to the present, showing students the relevance of what they learn. In a 7th grade United States History II inquiry on the Harlem Renaissance, for example, the question “How can art be used as a tool for resistance?” guides the study. Students examine how artists of the era used their work to challenge injustice, then apply that insight today by selecting or creating a piece of art as their own act of resistance in the Taking Informed Action component.
We use primary sources—speeches, photographs, maps, documents—to bring students into the complexity of the past. We invite them to make observations, ask questions, and draw connections. We use thinking routines from sites like Harvard Project Zero’s Thinking Routine Toolbox that help them slow down and look closely, or consider whose voices are present and whose are missing.
The students aren’t crafting the questions. We are. But they’re doing the thinking. They’re the ones wrestling with contradictions, uncovering nuance, and learning how to support their ideas with evidence. That’s where learning lives.
Before diving into oppression or injustice, it’s essential that we start with stories of agency, excellence, joy, and resistance. Students need to see that marginalized groups are more than what was done to them—they are thinkers, builders, fighters, artists, and change-makers. When we center identity, we also center strength. This frontloading matters. It frames historical truth in a way that uplifts and empowers students, especially those whose histories have often been ignored or oversimplified. By starting with agency, we create a foundation that helps students engage with hard truths without feeling hopeless or detached.
Truth-telling doesn’t mean throwing kids into the deep end. It means preparing them to swim. Before we dive into difficult topics, we build trust. We create classroom norms. We give students tools for discussion and strategies for reflection. We use tools such as Glenn Singleton’s Courageous Conversations Compass to reflect on our own approaches to these conversations and how others in our classroom community might be engaging with them.
We also preview content and scaffold it carefully. We provide context before controversy. We ease students into hard conversations by modeling how to talk about complex issues with care and compassion.
In elementary classrooms, this work is about developmentally appropriate honesty. Children already notice unfairness, differences, and ask big questions. Inquiry honors that curiosity while guiding it thoughtfully. Research in racial-ethnic identity and developmental psychology shows that children notice race as early as six months. If we avoid topics that spark dialogue about race, we leave them to fill in the gaps with misconceptions. Young learners are also forming their sense of fairness, and inquiries that explore fairness in both history and the present help refine that understanding.
One of the best ways to protect this work is to talk about it early, clearly, and often. Transparency builds trust. Involve stakeholders from the start. Invite teachers, administrators, community members, and families into the design process. Share your units. Overcommunicate. Open your classroom doors so others can see inquiry in action.
When I share units with families, I don’t lead with terms like “anti-racist instruction” or “whole-truth history.” I lead with, “We’re helping students learn to think critically about the world around them.” Over time, I add, “We respect our students enough to let them grapple with complex, unfiltered primary sources and develop their own understandings around big questions.”
With administrators, I highlight how inquiry aligns with standards, builds academic skills, and drives deep engagement. I emphasize structure and transparency, share student work, and invite them into the process.
That kind of communication builds allies. It turns potential critics into curious observers. It makes the work visible and understandable. And it reminds everyone that we’re not teaching politics; we’re teaching people.
We’re teaching in a time when even asking a question can feel dangerous. But if we stop asking questions, what kind of learners are we creating? If we avoid complexity, what kind of citizens are we raising?
Inquiry isn’t a loophole. It’s a lifeline. It allows us to teach honestly. It gives us a structure for doing the hard work well. It keeps us grounded in what matters most: helping students understand the world so they can make it better.
The truth doesn’t have to be loud or defiant. It can be quiet, patient, and well-prepared. It can start with a question. And sometimes, that’s all it takes.
Neeley Minton, a member of the Albemarle Education Association, serves as the county’s K-12 Social Studies Coordinator and President-Elect of Virginia Social Studies Leaders Consortium.
Teacher shortages are a serious issue across the country. Here in Virginia, there are currently over 3,648 unfilled teaching positions. (FY23)
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