Teachers are the Foundation
Starting at a brand new high school at 14, with absolutely no friends was one of the scariest experiences of my life. Being a teenage girl trying to find her way is hard enough, and doing it alone makes it even more terrifying. Even before my first day however, people were already talking about someone special on campus: a teacher. They told me she was kind, empowering, and one of the most inspiring people I'd ever meet–they were right.
Her face was all over Los Angeles during the 2019 teacher strike. She was part of something that felt bigger than just one classroom as she was leading a movement. She even looked like me and that truly meant everything! When I walked into homeroom on the first day and saw that she was my teacher, I couldn’t believe it. I told her what people had said and how inspired I was by her work. And then, later that day, I found out she’d be teaching my fourth period too–Intro to Ethnic Studies. Back then, I had no idea what "ethnic studies" meant and didn’t know how to think about identity, about race, or about power in any real way. But from the moment I stepped into her class, everything started clicking. It was the first time I genuinely loved learning. Every lesson felt like uncovering a truth that had been hidden from me, about our schools, our communities, our history. It was at this time that I began to understand why schools in my neighborhood were labeled as “less than” or “ghetto” even when we’re achieving more than ever before. For the first time, I saw the bigger picture, and my place in it.
That class and teacher that school year shaped me into the person I am today. She wasn’t just a teacher, she was a mentor for me; and still is. Even in my third year of college now, studying Ethnic Studies, and I know I can still reach out to her. What’s even crazier is that the movement I admired her for, the one I thought she had simply participated in, became something I joined too. In 2023, the workers’ walkout happened all throughout LAUSD all over again. I saw firsthand that her fight wasn’t just a moment–it was part of a larger, ongoing struggle. The truth is, she didn’t just choose this fight, she was born into it. Like me, she attended schools that lacked proper resources and support; all of which is a result of underfunding as a result of the negative consequences of Prop 13.
Her story and mine aren’t separate, they’re part of a generational cycle. Two generations of students and teachers fighting for justice in a system that has failed us for decades. A system where underfunding isn’t accidental, but intentional. Where inequality is embedded in policy, practice, and perception. And yet, we’re still here. Learning, teaching, organizing, resisting. She planted a seed of social justice in me that continues to grow.
