I’m not the first to say this, but it’s a strange and heartbreaking time to be a teacher and parent of young children. 

As a recent transplant to New Mexico, I admire the ways the state invests in children, regardless of their identities. Seeing these state policies in action has changed my perspective and made me think differently about what students deserve and how much better things would be if we chose to care for students and families more consistently. 

There are days when my own children are crawling into my lap with a book while I continue to process footage of children suffering in conflicts on the other side of the world. My high school students are writing the kind of poetry that leaves me speechless, even as I privately wonder about their career options as artificial intelligence receives more investment than the arts. Yet, my experience in New Mexico has shown me that another approach is possible. 

I have a unique vantage point, both as a parent and an educator who sees these challenges reflected in the lives of my students and their families. My local school district in New Mexico has yet to pivot to hybrid learning in response to the palpable fear parents felt, while the actions of federal agents created widespread fear in their community. My state is not banning books and restricting curricula. Instead, as a recent transplant to the state, I’m in awe of the ways New Mexico invests in children and our more vulnerable residents.

After the 2024 election, a shockwave swept through my school as students grappled with what another Trump presidency would mean for their futures. At the performing arts school where I teach, we have a high percentage of queer and trans students, a stark contrast to my previous school in California, where most LGBTQ+ students often chose to remain closeted until well after graduation. I grieve for what my previous students lost when they did not acknowledge or affirm their queer and trans classmates. In English class, they missed robust discussions; the depth their queer and trans peers bring to literary discussions, while leveraging queer theory, translates into highly analytical and more engaging coursework. In the scope of a school day, there were countless other ways all students missed a more complete experience, while their queer and trans peers chose safety in an environment hostile to their identities. 

And while New Mexico is much less hostile to trans residents, I still can’t imagine what it would be like to be growing up in a world that constantly demands you to defend and fight for your humanity. Guaranteed care by the state means nothing if authority figures are consistently exposed to negative messaging about transgender people or if your lack of insurance prevents you from getting the life-saving care you need. 

And yet, trans students in New Mexico are able to attend school in an environment with teachers who are largely committed to affirming a variety of gender identities, select curriculum that allows LGBTQ students to see themselves, bond with accepting and encouraging peers from across the gender spectrum, and learn from LGBTQ teachers who embody a hopeful future of what it means to be your full self in your career. This is all possible when a school doesn't just accommodate gender and sexual diversity, but embraces it. Extensive research confirms the ways in which affirming environments like ours can be life-saving for LGBTQ teens, especially trans students.

Earlier in my career, I felt optimistic about my queer and trans students’ futures. Today, seeing my trans students grapple with the new political realities has renewed my commitment to making an optimistic future visible for them. In a past article, I reflected on my role as a teacher in presenting a hopeful future for my students during unhopeful times. There is no one for whom this is more crucial than our queer and trans students. 

Ultimately, I wonder what it would look like for our world to care about children as much as the state of New Mexico does. What will happen when all children can attend high-quality early childhood education without adding to the financial burden of a growing family? What does it look like when gender affirming care is protected by law? Or when our lawmakers prohibit book and curriculum censorship? Or when we finally decide that school shootings do not have to be a certainty of American life? 

I know these questions will remain abstract while we watch students as young as Liam Ramos fear for their lives. But we cannot have a different future if we are not imagining a better one in the present. I’m thankful for my students, past and present, who encourage my imagination.

This story is part of an EdSurge series chronicling diverse educator experiences. These stories are made publicly available with support from the Learning Commons. EdSurge maintains editorial control over all content. (Read our ethics statement here.) This work is licensed under a CC BY-NC-ND 4.0.