By 2040, nearly one out of every four U.S. citizens will identify as Hispanic. But if current statistics hold, many of them won’t graduate from high school. Low-income Hispanic students will attend schools that offer fewer opportunities and resources than the schools of wealthier students. Hispanics will complete college at lower rates than their counterparts of other races. With National Hispanic Heritage Month upon us, I’ve been thinking a lot about what these odds mean for our country and for my former students.
When I taught in New York City, these were the sobering statistics of which I constantly reminded my primarily Latino seventh-graders. I emphasized the stats not to discourage my kids – in fact, it was quite the opposite. I did want them to know that the odds were not stacked in their favor. But I also wanted to motivate them to beat those odds and make sure they knew that I was willing to do everything in my power to help them.
In the classroom, my identity as a Latino teacher shaped my every interaction. Latino male teachers make up less than 2 percent of our nation’s total educators. For many of my students, this meant I was the first Latino male teacher they’d ever had. I knew this reality carried a responsibility to counter the narrative of what Latino men can and should be. I served as a mentor to many of my students and was lucky enough to become like family – during my years in the classroom, I attended countless family functions and parties. For the parents who were single mothers, I was able to act as a father figure and show their sons what their futures could look like.
These bonds with my students and their families developed out of more than just a familiar last name and shared skin color. They stemmed from an appreciation of our common heritage and a connection that transcended academics. Whether I was playing a game of pick-up soccer with a group of kids at a backyard birthday party or dancing at a student’s sister’s quinceañera, I embraced all the time I spent with my kids and their families as an opportunity to help them believe in their potential for a deeply fulfilling future.
While I could not be more grateful for the relationships I built with my kids, I am deeply concerned about the scores of students nationwide who don’t have a lot of role models who look like them. I am currently working toward a doctorate in higher education and educational leadership. I hope to work in administration at a community or junior college and help improve support systems to curb the high dropout rate among Latinos there. But that still won’t be enough to reach every under-resourced Latino student.
The path toward meaningful change has been taken by regular people committed to making extraordinary things possible. When I came to UCLA, I was lucky enough to participate in the Academic Advancement Program. AAP opened my eyes to the lack of diversity in higher education and fueled my drive to change that. As you consider where you want to go after you graduate, I urge you to think about an injustice you’ve experienced or witnessed and think about how you can help correct it. Social justice leaders come from all backgrounds, identities and experiences, but we are united by this difficult and deeply inspiring work. Every day, I push myself to play a role in the future I imagine for both the students who became like family and the ones I will never get to meet. But I know that as a Teach For America alum, I’m part of a growing network of Latino leaders, answering the call to fight for social justice in the classroom. As you imagine your own future, I hope you’ll join us.
Adam Ortiz is a 2006 UCLA alum. He is currently a graduate student at the University of Southern California and is an adjunct faculty member at Johns Hopkins University.