It isn’t radical. Not to ask for basic care. Yet here we are.
Moving to New Mexico felt like waking up from a long, dull dream. I watched how this state treats its children. It matters who they are. It shouldn’t matter. Here, the policies just work. Or they try to. Seeing it in action changes how I view education. We could care more. We could be better. It’s strange that we think twice.
My own kids crawl onto my lap for a bedtime story. Meanwhile I’m staring at footage of wars half a world away. Children dying. It sticks with me.
Then there are my high schoolers. They write poetry that leaves me speechless. Actual art. But I worry. AI gets funding. The arts get vibes. Where do my students go?
My local district hasn’t panicked with hybrid learning yet. Even as federal agents stirred up real fear in the community. We didn’t ban books. We didn’t shrink our curricula. We just… stayed put.
New Mexico surprises people. I admire that.
After the 2024 vote, a shockwave hit my classroom. Another Trump term? For a kid in this building, the future looked blurry. I teach at a performing arts school. We have queer students. Trans students. A lot of them. Out loud. Proud.
It’s different from California. I taught there before. Most of the LGBTQ+ kids kept quiet. Until graduation. Maybe after.
I still feel that loss. Those students missed out. They missed the depth their queer peers would have brought to literary analysis. Queer theory isn’t just a topic. It’s a lens. It makes coursework sharper. More human. When peers stay closeted to stay safe, everyone loses. The classroom feels hollow.
New Mexico feels less hostile. But “less” is a low bar. I can’t fathom the exhaustion of growing up where you have to defend your humanity every day.
Guaranteed care means nothing if your teacher hates you. It means nothing if insurance denies you life-saving treatment. The system exists on paper. The reality is grit.
But here? Teachers affirm gender. We don’t just tolerate. We lean in. The curriculum includes these kids. They see themselves on the page. They bond with peers. They learn from teachers who live out a hopeful version of adulthood.
Research backs this up. Affirming environments save lives. Literally.
I used to think my students would be fine. Now I work harder. I paint the future for them. Especially for the queer ones. The world doesn’t owe them optimism. But I can offer it.
What would it take? Just look at New Mexico.
Free early education that doesn’t bankrupt a family.
Legal protections for gender-affirming care.
Laws against book bans.
And school shootings? Stop being an American certainty.
These sound abstract. Until you think about a student like Liam Ramos. Fearing for their life in a hallway.
We need to imagine it now. A better world. Not later.
I’m lucky to have these students. Past and present. They push me to imagine further. To ask the question again: why not now?
The answer is never simple. But it starts with seeing them.
