Tag: books

by on

By Ashlyn N. Ramirez

“Justice is possible without a knowledge of God’s Law.” — Alasdair MacIntyre
“Struggles for recognition occur in a world of exacerbated material inequality.” — Nancy Fraser

We like to think justice is simple. Fair. Earned. But what if the systems we rely on to define justice were never built for everyone in the first place?

In my studies, I found myself pulled between two powerful voices: Alasdair MacIntyre and Nancy Fraser. They don’t write textbooks. They write blueprints for understanding who gets to decide what’s fair—and who’s left out.

MacIntyre speaks in traditions. He says justice is shaped by culture, by religion, by inherited values. Justice, for him, isn’t universal—it’s rooted in communities shaped by Puritanism, Catholicism, and Judaism. If those are the traditions you’re part of, maybe his logic feels familiar. But for others, it can feel exclusive. It left me wondering: if your history isn’t part of those narratives, do you still get to belong?

Fraser, on the other hand, meets us in the present. She writes about what we can see: food insecurity, health gaps, systemic racism, and gender-based violence. Her lens is urgent, intersectional, and sharp. She says it’s not enough to redistribute wealth—you must also recognize identity. You can’t discuss equality without addressing visibility.

When Tradition Doesn’t See You

MacIntyre’s work made me pause. He believes we inherit rationality through community. That truth is shaped by tradition. The liberal media and secular politics have lost sight of deeper values. He’s not entirely wrong.

However, I don’t come from the traditions he centers on. And I don’t believe justice should be reserved only for people who follow a specific moral lineage. Justice, to me, can’t be something you earn through inheritance. It has to be something we build—together.

Irene Chu calls MacIntyre’s logic deeply institutional. He’s focused on structure. On moral blueprints. But I kept asking myself: what about people who are navigating systems that were never made with them in mind?

Seeing Ourselves in the Struggle

Fraser is different. She calls out material inequality—not just in paycheck size, but in access to healthcare, housing, and even clean air. Her work hit home. As someone who has lived through environmental racism and felt the physical cost of inequality, her ideas weren’t just theory. They were familiar.

Fraser argues for two kinds of justice: redistribution (who gets what) and recognition (who gets seen). She says you can’t have one without the other. Pride parades, she notes, aren’t just celebrations—they’re statements. Visibility is political.

She also doesn’t let systems off the hook. Fraser is critical of neoliberalism, identity tokenism, and top-down reform. She’s grounded in feminist theory and understands that structural change requires cultural and symbolic transformation too.

Where They Meet—and Where They Don’t

Both MacIntyre and Fraser believe justice isn’t working. But their solutions come from different places. One looks to the past; the other looks to systems and structures that still dominate the present.

They both criticize liberalism’s failures. Both challenge how Enlightenment ideals left out too many people. But only one of them, in my opinion, shows a path forward that includes all of us.

MacIntyre invites us to consider what we inherit. Fraser challenges us to change what we’ve normalized.

Why It Matters to Me

As a doctoral student researching the digital divide, I witness these frameworks being played out every day. Some students never had access to laptops or high-speed internet. That’s not just a tech issue—it’s a justice issue. Fraser’s lens helps me see that clearly.

But I also understand how culture shapes belief. That’s MacIntyre’s territory. Why some still resist digital learning. Why access isn’t just about money, but mindset.

Ultimately, both theorists provide tools. Fraser equips me to fight for equity. MacIntyre reminds me that beliefs are inherited—and that means they can be challenged.

Justice Isn’t Neutral. It’s Personal.

I’ve spent years trying to understand why justice seems so distant for some and so readily assumed for others. This journey through MacIntyre and Fraser didn’t provide me with a single perfect answer. But it gave me a better question:

Whose justice? Which rationality?

I think we’re all still trying to figure that out.

Ashlyn N. Ramirez is a doctoral candidate, writer, and researcher who explores media, identity, and access in the digital age.

by on

Written in 2023

“Go back to where you came from.” That was the top phrase I heard the entire time I’ve been a resident of the California Bible Belt.

There’s nothing original about growing up in the Inland Empire. It’s the suburbs—yet somehow still considered rural in parts. It’s a place where underrepresented populations are growing in number, but so are Trump flags and right-wing extremism.

In 2020, Riverside County—where I reside—declared racism a public health crisis. But racism has always been here. It’s in the air, in the politics, and sometimes literally in the air—I developed severe asthma from poor air quality, a byproduct of environmental racism. I once lived next to a house raided by the FBI for extremist activity. My local representative, Ken Calvert, welcomed Congresswoman Marjorie Taylor Greene to attend a church service in my community—during a tour with indicted rapist Congressman Matt Gaetz.

It’s the kind of place where, in 2014, “patriots” blocked a road with linked arms to stop a bus of Central American immigrants, convinced they were defending land that was never theirs to begin with. This community sits on stolen land—look up the Temecula Indian Massacre.

And I live here.

Assimilation Is Not Safety

Being multigenerational doesn’t shield me from anything. I still live with my parents after my divorce. I still face systemic oppression—in healthcare, in schools, and in the workplace. I’ve spent half my life trying to break into a profession that doesn’t want me there. Not here. Not where my presence is questioned at every turn.

At 28, I took a DNA test and discovered I’m Indigenous. But I don’t know what tribe I came from. That’s erasure. That’s trauma. That’s assimilation. And no amount of “blending in” will save us.

Journalism Was Never Just a Job

I built a journalism career piece by piece. Assistant Opinion Editor at Cal State Fullerton’s Daily Titan. Reporter. Editor. Columnist. I investigated homelessness in Orange County and covered political unrest. In 2017, I helped cover a CSUF lecturer’s altercation with the campus Republican club and the protests that followed. That work resurfaced recently—because the threats haven’t gone away.

I’ve written for luxury magazines, indie rock blogs, and newspapers across Southern California. I helped de-platform a right-wing extremist on The Intercept. My team placed third in the California College Media Awards and was a finalist for the LA Press Club. I was proud. But even with those wins, self-doubt lingered—because race and class constantly press back.

I have two degrees, including a Master of Science in Communications and Journalism Innovation, and I’m earning a doctorate in Education. But even now, I know what it means to be overlooked.

Beyond DEI

Diversity, equity, and inclusion have become marketing buzzwords. DEI can be a trap—another way to tokenize BIPOC voices instead of truly listening.

I used to think my passion was journalism. But what I’ve come to realize is that my real passion is learning. It’s education. It’s digital literacy. It’s helping others navigate a world built to exclude them. I’m currently a full-time doctoral student researching the intersection of media, digital access, and educational equity.

Innovation starts with the words we write—in the classroom, on the internet, and in print. That’s how we build new pathways.

Rewriting My Own History

I write poetry now—mostly dark. It’s how I process. I look at the media landscape and feel haunted. I watch journalism become clickbait. I watch misinformation flood the platforms. I watch the rise of new precedents in media law that mirror the darkest parts of our history.

But I also see possibility.

Without writers, there is no record. Without journalists, there is no truth in print. I lost my culture through assimilation, but I refuse to stay disconnected from my heart.

Through research, education, and writing, I’ve traced pieces of my family tree. I’ve rebuilt what was erased. I’ve claimed space. And I’ve done it all while living with invisible illness, chronic pain, and neurodivergence.

Why I Keep Going

Why do I keep writing? Why am I still fighting for space in rooms that were never designed for me?

Because breaking generational cycles matters. Because education matters. Because there are students—readers—leaders—like me, still searching for a story that feels like home.

I’m not just chasing a degree. I’m chasing the freedom to write the truth, to teach it, and to make sure someone else doesn’t have to grow up wondering where they really come from.

In the end, we all become the exact same specks of atmospheric dust. But while I’m here, I’m going to make it count.

Written by Ashlyn Ramirez – Writer, Researcher, Educator