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Texas Advocates Share their Stories

Storytelling is central to advocacy at Young Invincibles. Texas Young Advocates share their stories on reproductive care, support for students of color on campus, and access to higher education.

Check them out below:


Prompt: Share a story about your reproductive journey or activism. You can also share why you advocate for abortion access in general. If you’ve driven a loved one to an appointment, lent money to someone for an abortion, provided child care during a friend’s appointment, or supported a loved one through their abortion in other ways, that’s a story.  If you’ve had an abortion and wish to share, there’s power in vulnerability.

Navigating the Shadows: A Journey Through Endometriosis

In the heart of Texas, where the sun blazes as fiercely as the political landscape, I endured a silent struggle for eight long years. Diagnosed with endometriosis at 25, I reflected on the painful journey that brought me here—a journey marked by misdiagnoses, skepticism, and a deep yearning for understanding.

As a teenager, I shared my symptoms—excruciating pain, debilitating fatigue, and heavy cycles—with my pediatrician, only to be met with dismissive remarks: “It’s just period pain,” or “You’re too young to worry about that.” Those words lingered, a haunting reminder of how easily women’s health concerns are trivialized. Over the years, similar responses came from endocrinologists, gynecologists, and primary care physicians.

Time and again, doctors were quick to prescribe birth control but reluctant to investigate the root cause of my suffering. It felt like a betrayal by a system meant to heal. Finally receiving a diagnosis was a bittersweet moment—a painful relief. Knowing the name of my ailment gave me validation after years of being silenced, but it also came with a sobering truth: the average time to diagnose endometriosis is over 10 years. My story was not an anomaly—it was part of a much larger, systemic failure in women’s healthcare.

Living in Texas, a state where access to abortion care has been systematically restricted, I’ve come to understand how deeply my struggle connects to the broader fight for reproductive justice. I believe unequivocally that abortion is healthcare. Denying this reality is a slippery slope, threatening access to other essential medical treatments, like the birth control that now keeps my endometriosis symptoms at bay.

This isn’t just about policy—it’s about autonomy. Reproductive rights are integral to ensuring that everyone has the freedom to make informed decisions about their own bodies, free from judgment or coercion. And yet, in Texas, where the majority of residents support access to abortion, political leaders continue to prioritize ideology over evidence-based care. This dissonance fuels my determination to advocate for a healthcare system that truly respects and protects our rights.

Sharing my story has shown me the power of storytelling to humanize complex issues. These experiences, often stigmatized and hidden, must be brought to light to challenge indifference and drive change. By speaking out, I hope to inspire others to do the same—because when we share our stories, we amplify the urgent need for equitable access to care and remind decision-makers that their policies have real, human consequences.

My journey with endometriosis is more than a personal battle; it’s a call to action. We must demand a healthcare system that listens, prioritizes our voices, and respects our autonomy. Together, we can forge a future where everyone has the freedom to make informed choices about their bodies—a future where no one’s pain is dismissed and no one is left to navigate the shadows of neglect and indifference alone.

In this fight, every voice matters. Every story can be a catalyst for change.

Elizabeth Perkovich, TX


High Risk

Before moving to Texas, I worked as a civilian police advocate and member of the High At Risk Team (HART) at the New Bedford Women’s Center. My role was to collaborate with designated police departments to provide crisis intervention and resource referrals to victims of sexual assault (SA) and domestic violence (DV). On the HART team, we tracked serial offenders of DV and SA, offering recommendations to judges and parole officers regarding individuals on the HART list.

A critical part of our work involved evaluating new DV cases through a Risk Assessment. This form helped judges, advocates, and officers determine the likelihood of a victim’s life being in imminent danger. Risk factors included harm to pets, instances of strangulation, and frequency of perpetrator intoxication. One of the most significant variables was whether the victim was pregnant. Research shows that pregnant women are about 20% more likely to be killed by their intimate partners than non-pregnant women.

When a client became pregnant, our urgency increased exponentially. Supporting her meant working harder, faster, and with heightened vigilance to guide her toward a safe exit. I feared for all the victims I served, but pregnancy amplified those fears. Today, however, our judiciary and legislature have brought us to a place where pregnant victims are left with even fewer options to protect themselves from harm.

Women enduring the horrors of domestic violence shouldn’t also face the state stripping them of autonomy over their bodies. Survivors already live under the constant power and control of their abusers, and now, laws restricting reproductive care exacerbate their entrapment.

According to the CDC, one in four women will experience physical violence by an intimate partner during their lifetime, and one in three will experience some form of sexual violence. For these women, every choice they make is shaped by the actions of their abuser. Access to contraception and abortion is not a luxury; it is a lifeline.

While I firmly believe that all women should have the right to decide what happens within their own bodies, regardless of their circumstances, victims of DV and SA illustrate the urgent need for such care. When we remove options from survivors, we are not just restricting their bodily autonomy—we are actively aiding their abusers. These laws enable perpetrators to further entrench their control, putting lives at even greater risk.

Our legislators and judiciary must ask themselves whose side they are on. Are they standing with the advocates, judges, and officers who work tirelessly to protect victims, or are they standing with abusers? To claim to be “pro-life” while failing to protect the lives of daughters, wives, mothers, and sisters who live in constant fear is a moral contradiction.

Life is complicated and messy, informed by countless variables. Survivors of DV and SA already face overwhelming limitations on their choices imposed by the perpetrators of violence. Restrictive reproductive laws compound these limitations, leaving survivors even more vulnerable.

We must restore access to reproductive care—not just for the autonomy of all women but to uphold the mission of protecting and saving lives. True advocacy means giving women the tools and choices they need to escape violence, not binding them to it.

Eva Catanzariti, TX


Prompt: In just three decades, people of color will become the new majority in education and workforce settings, but systemic barriers and poorly shaped policies have led to persistent inequities between racial and ethnic groups in educational attainment. We want to hear your recommendations on how to help students of color access college, complete a degree, and manage student loan debt.

Crisis on campus

When I chose my college, my decision centered on practical concerns: affordability, proximity to home, and academic opportunities. I didn’t consider racial inclusion or the availability of resources for students of color. However, once I arrived on campus, I was blindsided by how difficult it was to find a sense of community and access the support I needed as a person of color. Each day, I felt increasingly isolated, struggling to relate to others in a predominantly white environment.

I was not passive in my efforts to belong. I attended campus-sponsored events, joined clubs and organizations, and even explored Greek life, hoping to make meaningful connections. However, over time, it became clear that the campus environment wasn’t designed to support all students equally. Instead, it seemed tailored to fit a specific mold of the “ideal” student the institution wanted to cultivate—one that didn’t include people like me.

Through my involvement in student government, I gained insight into the structural challenges that students of color face and the gaps in the resources intended to support us. Conversations with my peers revealed a recurring theme: the need for a community where individuals could connect and rely on one another. Shared experiences—whether related to mental health, academics, or family dynamics—often translate into shared understanding. Building these communities fosters peer support and provides students a space to navigate their challenges together.

One of the fundamental issues I observed is that solutions for marginalized communities are often devised by individuals who lack personal experience with the problems they are trying to address. This disconnect results in resources and initiatives that miss the mark, failing to address the real needs of students. To create meaningful change, it is essential to involve people from these communities in decision-making processes, particularly in Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) roles. These individuals bring a firsthand understanding of the issues and can craft solutions that resonate with those they aim to serve.

Another significant barrier is the inaccessibility of existing resources. While some support systems are in place, they are often poorly advertised, overly complicated, or difficult to navigate. For many students of color, particularly first-generation students, these barriers compound their challenges. The university must make a concerted effort to streamline access, publicize resources effectively, and ensure they reach those who need them most.

Creating an inclusive and equitable campus environment for students of color is not an insurmountable task. It requires intentionality, resources, and a sustained commitment from institutions. As college campuses grow increasingly diverse, addressing these disparities is more critical than ever. Delaying action only deepens the divide, leaving countless students to navigate college unsupported and underserved.

Addressing these needs is not just beneficial—it is imperative. By fostering an environment where all students feel seen, heard, and supported, we create a campus community where everyone has the opportunity to thrive.

Christopher Grizzaffi, TX


Supporting Students of Color on Campus

Over the next thirty years, people of color are projected to become the majority in educational institutions and the workforce—a demographic shift that holds tremendous potential for societal advancement. Yet, systemic barriers and entrenched inequities continue to limit access to higher education, degree completion, and pathways to long-term economic security for students of color.

As a student of color and an advocate for equitable support systems, I have witnessed firsthand the transformative power of inclusive initiatives in higher education. To truly empower students of color and prepare them for success, institutions must prioritize three critical areas: culturally responsive mental health services, comprehensive financial literacy programs, and workforce development initiatives. Addressing these areas will create an environment where students of color can thrive academically, professionally, and personally.

Mental health profoundly influences academic performance and overall well-being. Students of color often face unique stressors—racial discrimination, financial pressures, and culturally specific expectations—that can hinder their ability to fully engage in higher education. Unfortunately, many institutions fail to address these challenges with culturally competent mental health resources.

While nearly half of U.S. college students are non-white, 72% of college counselors are white, and only 11% are Black. Research shows that students feel more comfortable and understood when speaking with mental health professionals who share their cultural background. Elements of shared experience and cultural understanding reduce stigma and foster trust, yet many universities neglect to invest in representative and culturally sensitive counseling services.

By prioritizing accessible and inclusive mental health resources, higher education institutions can create an environment where students of color feel supported, understood, and empowered to overcome challenges. This investment will not only improve individual student outcomes but also contribute to a more equitable campus culture.

Financial literacy is an invaluable tool for helping students of color make informed decisions about budgeting, debt, and financial planning. Historically, students of color have faced limited access to financial education, leaving them vulnerable to overwhelming debt and long-term instability.

Universities have a unique opportunity to bridge this gap by offering workshops and resources on essential topics like budgeting, managing loans, and building credit. For many students, even basic knowledge about opening a bank account or filing taxes can be life-changing. Programs like these would empower students of color to navigate financial systems with confidence, reducing stress and setting the stage for long-term success.

Financial literacy not only alleviates immediate financial burdens but also provides a foundation for sustainable economic security. By equipping students with these skills, universities can help ensure that students of color graduate with both the knowledge and the tools to thrive beyond college.

The transition from academia to the workforce can be particularly daunting for first-generation college students and others without established professional networks. Workforce development programs—career counseling, resume building, and internships—are critical in preparing students of color for meaningful careers.

Universities must collaborate with employers and professionals committed to diversity and inclusion to create pathways for students of color to gain valuable experience and secure job opportunities. By offering these resources, institutions can level the playing field and ensure that all students, regardless of background, have the skills and confidence to succeed in the workforce.

Addressing mental health, financial literacy, and workforce readiness are essential steps toward closing equity gaps in higher education. These initiatives go beyond addressing immediate needs; they provide a foundation for lifelong success. By investing in these critical areas, colleges and universities can create a system that values and nurtures the potential of every student.

As institutions work to meet the needs of an increasingly diverse student body, these changes represent not just an investment in individual students but also a commitment to a more equitable and prosperous future for all. Together, we can create a higher education system where students of color are not only supported but empowered to thrive.

Isadora Paul, TX


Support for Students of Color Can Make or Break a College Experience

Growing up in Houston, Texas—a city renowned for its resilience, innovation, and commitment to healthcare—I always knew I wanted to pursue a career in medicine. Education was my key to breaking barriers, and I dreamed of becoming a doctor who could improve health outcomes and uplift my community. Today, I am a junior at the University of Houston, majoring in public health, and I am planning to attend medical school.

But as a woman of color navigating a large, public institution, I’ve encountered challenges that make this path more difficult than it needs to be.

While college campuses today are more diverse than ever, many systems and support structures necessary to help students of color thrive have not kept pace. From gaps in mental health support to food and housing insecurity, these barriers directly impact our ability to succeed academically, graduate on time, and enter the workforce equipped to make a difference. My own experiences and those of my peers have shown me how urgently we need policies and resources that reflect the realities of students of color.

One of the most pressing challenges is access to culturally competent mental health care. Many campuses offer counseling services, but these services’ quality and cultural awareness can vary widely. I’ll never forget a friend of mine, a first-generation Vietnamese student, who struggled with anxiety and the immense pressure of financially supporting his family while pursuing his degree. When he sought counseling, his therapist didn’t understand the cultural factors compounding his stress, such as his role as a caregiver for his siblings. Rather than feeling supported, he left feeling even more isolated. His grades suffered as he tried to manage these challenges on his own.

This story is not unique. Students of color often face cultural and economic pressures that traditional mental health services fail to address. Expanding access to counselors who understand these dynamics could make all the difference.

Another significant hurdle is food and housing insecurity. While I’m fortunate to have supportive parents, I’ve had friends who went days without proper meals or a stable place to live. Many of these students, particularly those who are first-generation or come from low-income families, work long hours to make ends meet, sacrificing their academic performance in the process. Programs like food pantries, low-cost meal plans, and emergency housing options have been lifesaving for some of my peers. However, these resources are often poorly advertised, leaving students unaware of them until they’re in crisis.

Universities should proactively share information about these programs, integrating them into student orientations or providing digital guides to basic needs services. By doing so, they can ensure that students access the help they need before it’s too late.

Reflecting on these experiences, I’ve come to realize that students of color don’t just need a seat at the table; we need the tools to stay there and thrive. Colleges must invest in culturally competent mental health care, expand food and housing support, and address other barriers that disproportionately affect students from marginalized backgrounds.

As I prepare for a career in medicine, I am committed to using my journey to advocate for systemic change that addresses these inequities at the policy level. But I also hope that universities will take immediate action to support students of color now. By acknowledging our unique challenges and providing the resources we need, colleges can help ensure that we graduate not just with degrees but with the resilience and skills to succeed in the world beyond.

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that addressing these issues on campus today is an investment in a more equitable workforce tomorrow. And that’s a future worth fighting for.

Noelle Nguyen, TX


The Story of a Whistleblower

My name is Yulissa, and I am a whistleblower. Back in 2018, I was preparing to become a teacher and enrolled in a class designed to prepare us for the realities of high school public education. One day, my professor started class with a seemingly simple question: “What is something that we all have in common?”

As my classmates and I shared stories and interests, exchanging smiles, the professor brought us back together and said in a celebratory tone, “It’s because we are all white!”

The room fell silent. I looked around and realized I was the only person of color in the class. Raising my hand, I said, “I’m not white.”

The professor responded, “Latino and Hispanic aren’t a race.”

I was stunned. Did I really just hear this from a professor teaching a course about cultural sensitivity? Someone who was supposed to prepare us to create inclusive learning environments? When I tried to explain that race is a social construct, I was met with indifference, doubt, and dismissal. Overwhelmed, I had to step out of the room. Tears of frustration filled my eyes as I processed what had happened.

When I returned, calm but shaken, no apology was offered. I confided in a trusted advisor, who encouraged me to report the professor. It was then I learned that this professor had a history of racist incidents and microaggressions toward students. My report was the final straw, and the professor was ultimately let go.

This experience is why I am so passionate about diversity, equity, and inclusion (DEI). Without DEI initiatives supported by institutions, I would have had no recourse to challenge the harm I experienced. Without DEI, there would be no accountability for problematic authority figures. Without DEI, I would have been left disempowered, isolated, and without a community to support me. DEI is not just about representation for BIPOC communities—it’s essential for ensuring equity and justice for everyone.

To truly support students of color, institutions must create spaces that are restorative, affirmative, and validating. This includes providing mental health services staffed by therapists and healthcare providers from historically marginalized communities, who understand how to navigate uncomfortable spaces and conversations. It also means offering opt-in wellness programs that address food security, housing security, and financial literacy, ensuring these resources are accessible to students in need.

Furthermore, institutions must invest in mentoring and guidance programs tailored for first-generation students. These programs should be visible, accessible, and proactive in providing the tools and support students need to succeed.

The disparities in opportunities for students of color extend far beyond graduation. We are less likely to secure salaried careers, which widens the race gap in income, wealth, and overall quality of life. This gap affects our mental and physical health, our ability to build generational wealth, and the futures of our families. To combat this, institutions must empower students of color by investing in them early and consistently.

We deserve to thrive in abundance because we fight, demand, and claim space. We exist, and we are here to stay.

Yulissa Chavez, TX


Prompt: Share a story about how access to higher education affected your life. If you didn’t go to college or ended up stepping away, what were some obstacles?

Diversity on Campus: Power in Institutional Support

As a first-generation college student, a member of the LGBTQ+ community, and a person of color, attending college gave me the chance to explore my identities, interests, and background in ways I never had before. I’ll never forget the blog post I wrote for a class assignment titled “Act Like a White Lady.” In it, I examined the intersection of racism and sexism in how femininity was portrayed to me growing up. For the first time, I realized that what the world deemed “ladylike” was not a celebration of womanhood but rather an erasure of inalienable parts of myself.

When my professors read my piece, they encouraged me to connect with the campus Women’s Center. That recommendation changed my life.

At the Women’s Center, I found a community of like-minded individuals who gave me the tools to transform my story into an anthem for change. It was there that I decided to apply for an internship with a local Sexual Trauma Awareness & Response center—a decision that set me on the path to my current career as a Title IX professional.

In my third year, my university opened a Latiné student center, giving me another space where I could find refuge and solidarity on campus. Words cannot describe the empowerment I felt knowing these resources existed—resources that told me and others like me: You belong here. You matter.

But today, students in Texas may never have that same opportunity.

If a student today wrote a story like mine at a public university in Texas, there would be no campus Women’s Center for a professor to recommend. Anti-DEI legislation has prohibited Texas public universities from maintaining centers that offer services focused on individuals of a specific race, sexual orientation, or gender. While the unique barriers faced by marginalized students remain unchanged, the institutional support for navigating them has been dismantled.

As someone who now works full-time in higher education, I’ve seen firsthand the ripple effects of this legislation. Across Texas, schools have disbanded identity-based employee resource groups, leaving professionals without spaces like a Black Professionals Association or LGBTQ+ staff network. Students and employees alike have lost access to critical support systems designed to advance their educational and professional development.

This forced erasure of our identities has not created more equality. Since SB17 went into effect, there has been no significant increase in the number of university officials of color or LGBTQ+ graduate students. Instead, individuals are left to confront systemic barriers alone, without the community or institutional support they deserve.

I dream of a day when university administrators are free to recognize the lived realities of their students and staff. A day when marginalized individuals feel seen, valued, and supported—not just by their peers but by the state of Texas and the institutions that shape their futures.

There is power in institutional recognition of systemic injustice. That power forever changed my life, and I hold onto the hope that one day it will be restored for the future leaders of Texas.

Angelina Johnson, TX


Immigrants and Higher Education

Growing up in a Pakistani immigrant family, I witnessed my parents’ relentless dedication to building a life filled with opportunities for me and my brother. They came to the United States at just 20 years old, driven by big dreams and an unshakable belief in the power of education. My dad pursued a degree in computer science while working part-time, and my mom, despite the challenges of raising two young children, returned to college to study finance. Together, they didn’t just create a stable life—they modeled resilience, determination, and the courage to pursue one’s goals, no matter the obstacles.

When I was accepted into a top public university in Texas, I knew I was following in their footsteps. Education has always been a cornerstone of my parents’ vision for our future, and their unwavering support taught me the value of hard work and perseverance. While they didn’t face some of the hardships many immigrants encounter, their journey was still filled with sacrifices and effort to ensure we could aim high and achieve our dreams.

As I navigate college life, I often reflect on everything they balanced to provide me with these opportunities. My mom’s ability to juggle her finance studies while raising us is a constant source of inspiration. Watching her manage schoolwork and motherhood showed me what’s possible when you’re determined to succeed. Her example fuels my own drive and reminds me that education isn’t just a personal achievement—it’s a way to honor the sacrifices my parents made to give me a brighter future.

College has been a transformative experience for me. It has opened doors to new opportunities, allowed me to learn from exceptional professors, and helped me connect with people from diverse backgrounds. Every step I take feels like a continuation of my parents’ dreams—a testament to their hard work and a promise that their sacrifices were not in vain.

As I look ahead, I’m motivated not only to succeed for myself but to lay the groundwork for future generations, just as my parents did for me. Their journey has taught me that education is more than a stepping stone to a career—it’s a legacy of resilience, determination, and hope that I am proud to carry forward.

Anosha Qurashi, TX


Access to Higher Education– It’s Worth the Price Tag

“If you think school is expensive, imagine being uneducated.” When my mother shared these words with me at fourteen, I didn’t fully grasp their significance. At first, I took her message to be about the material costs of ignorance in a world that values knowledge. But with time, I’ve come to understand a deeper truth in her statement: ignorance isn’t just about a lack of information; it’s about a lack of perspective. Education challenges us to rethink, refine, and even reconstruct our values, ethics, and sense of self. It broadens our worldview and equips us with the tools to contribute meaningfully to society.

Growing up, I was surrounded by influences that emphasized the importance of learning. My academically competitive siblings constantly pushed me to excel, my father immersed himself in encyclopedias, and my mother had an insatiable thirst for new knowledge and progress. Born in Venezuela, I experienced firsthand the cultural emphasis Latin American families often place on education. In our community, the harsh realities faced by those without access to higher education were painfully visible. These experiences shaped our elders’ determination to push their children toward academic success, believing education to be the key to escaping systemic barriers.

Access to higher education has profoundly shaped my own development. It has allowed me to encounter perspectives, cultures, and histories I might never have otherwise understood. These experiences have not only broadened my worldview but have also illuminated the injustices plaguing my home country of Venezuela. Education has deepened my awareness of the political and socioeconomic reforms necessary to bring peace and equity to its people.

Knowledge, as they say, is power—a truth that is both profound and contentious. Those who grasp the transformative potential of education often recognize its capacity to challenge the status quo. Yet, the very systems that understand this power sometimes act to restrict access to it, particularly for historically marginalized groups. Addressing this imbalance by prioritizing affordability and accessibility is critical. When diverse voices are welcomed into academia, new perspectives emerge, enriching the intellectual community and fostering opportunities that might otherwise be overlooked.

The inclusion of unique voices benefits not only marginalized groups but society as a whole. It encourages both the majority and minority to recognize and value intersectionality—the overlapping identities and experiences that shape individuals and communities. This pursuit of diversity and equity is essential for the growth of academic institutions and the betterment of society. Research has long linked limited access to education with higher rates of crime and systemic inequality. Expanding access to higher education—and creating environments that acknowledge and respect the differences between students—builds safer, more equitable communities.

A critical distinction must be made between equality and equity. Equality assumes that everyone begins on an even playing field and provides the same resources to all. Equity, on the other hand, recognizes that different groups have different needs and allocates resources accordingly to ensure that all have the opportunity to succeed. By prioritizing equity in higher education, we empower individuals to overcome systemic barriers and achieve their potential.

Higher education is a cornerstone of societal success. It cultivates critical thinking, encourages innovation, and equips individuals with the knowledge needed to navigate and resolve complex challenges. By reinforcing its importance and expanding its accessibility, we invest in a future where every voice has the opportunity to contribute to a more just and prosperous world.

C Alondra Valerio, TX


Making Higher Education Accessible

Growing up in predominantly low-income Black and Brown neighborhoods shaped my understanding of inequity in education. My early years were spent at a public elementary school that did its best with limited resources. While the school lacked many of the advantages others enjoyed, it was there that I met some of the most dedicated teachers and formed lifelong friendships, including with my best friend. At the time, I didn’t realize the disparity in resources until I transitioned to magnet schools for middle and high school.

At these magnet schools, I was exposed to a wider range of subjects, enriching field trips, and invaluable college preparation resources. I had the privilege of working with a dedicated college advisor who guided me through the financial aid process, helped me select schools, and even enabled me to tour colleges at no cost. This support led to multiple scholarship offers from universities, and I ultimately chose to attend Colgate University.

At Colgate, I was fortunate to graduate without student loans, thanks to scholarships and a program called OUS (Office of Undergraduate Studies), which supports low-income and/or Black and Brown students. OUS became my home for four years, providing not only financial assistance for essentials like books but also a supportive community where I could connect with peers who shared similar experiences. The program offered professional development opportunities and introduced me to multicultural events, which enriched my college experience.

Despite finding a community within OUS, my identity as a low-income, first-generation Black student was not representative of Colgate’s predominantly White population. I often relied on additional resources like the Dell Scholarship and work-study to cover non-tuition expenses such as food and laundry. My journey through higher education was shaped by these crucial support systems, as well as by my determination to succeed as the child of a single parent who didn’t have the opportunity to attend college herself.

While I overcame significant adversity to earn my degree, I do not see my story as a representation of the “American Dream.” I know that my success was made possible by opportunities that many of my peers were denied. I grew up alongside some of the most intelligent and talented individuals I have ever met, yet systemic inequities robbed them of the chance to attend and graduate college. At just 26 years old, I know of at least five peers from my elementary school who have passed away—bright, capable individuals whose potential was cut short.

I recognize the privilege I had in accessing opportunities that made higher education attainable for me. But true progress will only be made when these same opportunities are available to all low-income Black and Brown students. By addressing systemic inequities and expanding access to resources, we can create a future where no student’s potential is determined by their zip code or financial background.

Elsie Kindall, TX