Shireen Al-Adeimi is an assistant professor in the College of Education. Her research advances dialogic classroom practices that improve elementary school students’ critical thinking and reasoning skills.
In the words of a fourth-grade student whose classroom my graduate research assistant and I were observing, I am a “talk scientist.” My work focuses on dialogic classroom discourse — how it can be captured through validated observation tools, how it can be used to build K-12 students’ literacy skills and how teachers and students can develop critical stances through talk. I explore these questions through a range of methodological approaches, from experimental design to qualitative interviewing, using tools such as statistical modeling and discourse analysis. This breadth reflects a commitment not to any single method, but to the pursuit of understanding: how and why we talk, and what it means when we fall silent.
As a former middle school English language arts teacher, I have seen how books offer readers a window into others’ lives and a mirror reflecting their own, as scholar Rudine Sims Bishop wrote in 1990. But as Socrates reminds us, books alone are static companions; they cannot respond to our questions or challenge our assumptions. We turn to one another for that work. We talk to make meaning, to negotiate understanding and to refine our thinking.
This interest in dialogue is both culturally and professionally rooted. My own ideas have been shaped through conversations in classrooms, in community spaces and at home, where talk was the primary vehicle through which we made sense of the world around us. At the heart of dialogue is a profound curiosity about how others see the world — a curiosity that creates the possibility of understanding, even across deep difference.
This commitment to dialogue inspired the creation of the Middle East and North African Faculty and Staff Association, or MENA-FSA, at MSU last year. Those of us connected to a region spanning two continents and encompassing multiple ethnicities and languages came together to build a space of solidarity and understanding. We are guided by the conviction that our experiences must be voiced — not spoken for and flattened into stereotypes but shared in all their complexity. MENA-FSA is not just about visibility; it is about agency, community and dialogue across and within our differences.
Yet understanding through dialogue is not guaranteed. In a world where repression and violence often seek to silence dissent, the ability to speak and be heard becomes all the more fragile. Silence — whether chosen or imposed — can offer comfort or protection, but it also carries risks. It can narrow our understanding, distance us from one another and harden assumptions into divisions.
Having lived through war, I have witnessed how quickly the collapse of diplomacy — a form of dialogue — can give way to violence. As an anti-war activist working to end the U.S.-led war on my country of birth, Yemen, I have also seen how difficult it is to stop with words what violence has set in motion.
Maintaining the practices of dialogue — of speaking, listening, questioning and understanding — is essential, even when conditions are difficult. It is not enough to call for change; we must also remain committed to creating spaces where change is possible.
This commitment to maintaining spaces for dialogue is central not only to my political advocacy but also to my work as an educator and researcher. In my teacher education courses, I help future teachers critically examine how imperialist narratives shape curriculum, policy and pedagogy, often silencing the voices and histories of those most impacted. Through initiatives like Global Justice Dialogues, or GJD, I work to create spaces where students and community members engage in thoughtful conversations about global issues and their intersections with education. These efforts aim not only to amplify marginalized perspectives but also to cultivate the dialogic skills necessary to foster collective understanding and solidarity.
As we mark National Arab American Heritage Month and continue to build spaces like MENA-FSA and GJD, I am reminded that dialogue is both a right and a responsibility. To sustain conversation across difference, to insist on understanding in the face of division and to speak with others rather than over them — these are the practices that help communities not only survive but flourish.
As a former middle school English language arts teacher, I have seen how books offer readers a window into others’ lives and a mirror reflecting their own, as scholar Rudine Sims Bishop wrote in 1990. But as Socrates reminds us, books alone are static companions; they cannot respond to our questions or challenge our assumptions. We turn to one another for that work. We talk to make meaning, to negotiate understanding and to refine our thinking.
This interest in dialogue is both culturally and professionally rooted. My own ideas have been shaped through conversations in classrooms, in community spaces and at home, where talk was the primary vehicle through which we made sense of the world around us. At the heart of dialogue is a profound curiosity about how others see the world — a curiosity that creates the possibility of understanding, even across deep difference.
This commitment to dialogue inspired the creation of the Middle East and North African Faculty and Staff Association, or MENA-FSA, at MSU last year. Those of us connected to a region spanning two continents and encompassing multiple ethnicities and languages came together to build a space of solidarity and understanding. We are guided by the conviction that our experiences must be voiced — not spoken for and flattened into stereotypes but shared in all their complexity. MENA-FSA is not just about visibility; it is about agency, community and dialogue across and within our differences.
Yet understanding through dialogue is not guaranteed. In a world where repression and violence often seek to silence dissent, the ability to speak and be heard becomes all the more fragile. Silence — whether chosen or imposed — can offer comfort or protection, but it also carries risks. It can narrow our understanding, distance us from one another and harden assumptions into divisions.
Having lived through war, I have witnessed how quickly the collapse of diplomacy — a form of dialogue — can give way to violence. As an anti-war activist working to end the U.S.-led war on my country of birth, Yemen, I have also seen how difficult it is to stop with words what violence has set in motion.
Maintaining the practices of dialogue — of speaking, listening, questioning and understanding — is essential, even when conditions are difficult. It is not enough to call for change; we must also remain committed to creating spaces where change is possible.
This commitment to maintaining spaces for dialogue is central not only to my political advocacy but also to my work as an educator and researcher. In my teacher education courses, I help future teachers critically examine how imperialist narratives shape curriculum, policy and pedagogy, often silencing the voices and histories of those most impacted. Through initiatives like Global Justice Dialogues, or GJD, I work to create spaces where students and community members engage in thoughtful conversations about global issues and their intersections with education. These efforts aim not only to amplify marginalized perspectives but also to cultivate the dialogic skills necessary to foster collective understanding and solidarity.
As we mark National Arab American Heritage Month and continue to build spaces like MENA-FSA and GJD, I am reminded that dialogue is both a right and a responsibility. To sustain conversation across difference, to insist on understanding in the face of division and to speak with others rather than over them — these are the practices that help communities not only survive but flourish.
