Who Decides for Dobie? Disruption, Equity, and the Fight for Community Voice

✨ "We’ll Be Dobie Always and Forever" ✨ No matter what happens to Dobie, staff and students are committed to enjoying their last few weeks and honoring their time together.

The views and opinions expressed in this piece are solely my own and do not represent the views, policies, or positions of Austin ISD or any affiliated organizations.

Between the expansion of voucher schemes in Texas and the erosion of the Department of Education at the federal level, this is a historically significant moment in the fight for public education. Here in Austin, the future of Dobie Middle School hangs in the balance—and with it, our collective responsibility to center marginalized communities in the decisions that shape their education.

Austin ISD has presented two preferred options for Dobie: a district-led Restart with a Texas Senate Bill 1882 contingency, or a partnership with an external charter organization under the same law. But this so-called choice isn’t just about the outcome—it’s about how Austin ISD will honor the dignity, intelligence, and needs of Dobie and East Austin schools like it.

So far, the process has felt like a continuation of top-down decisions that prioritize optics over equity. Let’s hope there is a strategic long-term plan coming soon.

Much of what has been said publicly about Dobie tells only part of the story. Without understanding the why behind community advocacy, we risk proposing solutions that don’t align with the deeper reality. Even well-intentioned efforts can harm when not informed by lived experience. When we fail to amplify the voices of those most impacted, we silence an already historically disenfranchised community.

As a longtime educator on the East Side and current instructional coach at Dobie, I’ve witnessed our school begin to rebuild—academically, yes, but more importantly, relationally. Trust has taken root among staff, students, and families: those who stayed, those who returned, and those who chose Dobie anew. Progress has been slow, sometimes fragile, but always real. A Restart doesn’t just reset a school; it risks erasing the hard-won gains of community connection and student belonging.

It’s like ending a two-year relationship and being asked to start over with, “What’s your favorite color?” when we had just arrived at the deeper questions:

Can I trust you? Do you care about me? How will you help me grow?

This isn’t work that can be dismissed or bypassed. And truthfully, we’ve already lost families and staff. The damage has been done, and its impact cannot be ignored. The question now is: how do we move forward with integrity?

To force that process without transparent information, inclusive planning, and a respectful timeline sure feels like another example of institutional harm.

Dobie families have consistently and vocally opposed a charter partnership. They understand what research confirms: academic improvement is most sustainable when rooted in stability, supportive relationships, and community trust. According to the Learning Policy Institute, “lasting school improvement depends on enabling conditions—including strong community engagement and trust-building—not just technical fixes.” And as parents have reminded the larger community, we already have five charter schools in the neighborhood. Which begs the question: why can’t we pour our public funds into our East Side public schools instead of charter competitors? And why does the state of Texas highly incentivize these partnerships instead of investing in our struggling neighborhood schools? I have a feeling the answer has something to do with money and not disrupting the status quo of prioritizing privilege over equitable education.

So what is a Texas SB 1882 partnership, and why is it controversial?

Under SB 1882, school districts may contract with external entities—nonprofits, charter operators, or higher education institutions—to manage low-performing campuses. In exchange, the district receives a two-year pause on accountability sanctions and additional per-pupil funding (approximately $700 more per student²). But the tradeoff is steep: operational control shifts to the partner, including decisions about staffing, budgeting, and curriculum.

Though these partners must be nonprofits, many operate with charter-style efficiency models—subcontracting services, centralizing authority, and diverting funds toward administrative overhead. They are not held to the same federal and state standards as public districts. A 2022 report from the National Education Policy Center found that charter-managed schools are significantly more likely to under-serve students with disabilities and emergent bilinguals.³

Charter schools often promise better state accountability outcomes, but at what cost? Behind the marketing, the data tells a different story. According to the Texas Education Agency’s 2023 Charter School Performance Framework, charter schools serve:

• 3% fewer students with disabilities

• 4.7% fewer emergent bilingual students

• 8% fewer economically disadvantaged students⁴

Some do not offer dual-language instruction or adhere to IDEA (Individuals with Disabilities Education Act) protections. That’s exclusion.

Take Mendez in Austin ISD, now managed by charter partner Third Future Schools: the campus serves fewer than 250 students, down from over 500 pre-partnership.⁵ That limits access to electives, arts, athletics, and student support services—or removes them entirely to prioritize test-based instruction. (When a group of Lamar parents took it upon themselves to tour Mendez on behalf of Dobie families, I wonder if they saw the stationary bikes in the library that replaced athletics. I’ll let that speak for itself.) Meanwhile, because many 1882 partners aren’t traditional public schools, some are exempt from public reporting requirements such as TAPR (Texas Academic Performance Report) data.⁶ That’s a problem.

Listening carefully to the recent presentation at the Board meeting, it seems like the SB 1882 model with Third Future (TF) prioritizes compliance over collaboration. At places like Mendez’s charter partnership, TF leaders share how students are rewarded based on extrinsic motivators. That’s not how you build agency. That’s how you train obedience.

Dobie families know what they’re asking for: a well-resourced, inclusive public school—not a charter system with fewer protections and less voice. They want public dollars to stay in public schools, serving all students. They want a good neighborhood school with teachers and administrators they trust. As Dobie’s PTA President shared at the Lamar Community Meeting, “Our community doesn’t want a charter school because we’re going to lose everybody – all the teachers, all the staff will have to go”.

It’s not a radical ask. But if this situation teaches us anything, it’s that AISD must change—not only because it’s the right thing to do, but because otherwise we risk a TEA takeover (just look at that A/F map floating around). If we do not act differently, we’re setting a devastating and alarming precedent—losing most of our “failing” East Side schools and relinquishing control to charter operators.

AISD initially proposed a temporary closure and reassignment plan that preserved relationships while offering a full reset. But this option was quietly removed after vocal opposition from a small group of white, more affluent families outside the Dobie community. Several Lamar Middle School parents objected to temporarily housing Dobie students, citing “safety” and “overcrowding.”

These are familiar narratives. Historically, similar language has been used to resist integration, as documented in desegregation studies and the ongoing work of the Civil Rights Project at UCLA.⁷

What unfolded between the Dobie and Lamar communities is a textbook example of how equity can be effectively weaponized. When one school’s “safety” or overcrowding concerns are addressed by stripping options from another—particularly a historically marginalized one—we’re not solving problems equitably. We’re redistributing harm. Comfort and protection are preserved for those used to being prioritized, while disruption and instability fall, yet again, on communities that have long borne the cost of systemic neglect.

The district’s decision to eliminate this community-informed proposal fractured already fragile trust. There was no full explanation of its logistical challenges until after the fact. This raises a troubling question: does the difference lie in who it affects?

Dobie serves a student population that is 97% Black and Brown, with 93% classified as economically disadvantaged.⁸ Lamar, by contrast, serves a whiter, wealthier demographic. If AISD is truly committed to “disrupting” inequitable systems, the discomfort must be shared—not concentrated on the East Side.

This is what systemic inequity looks like:

• Being spoken for instead of with

• Watching plans shift based on privilege, not principle

• Watching the East Side carry the burden of so-called shared sacrifice

• Hearing talk of “safety” without addressing how choice programs have destabilized and segregated our schools

Equity requires us to look at root causes: chronic underfunding, imbalanced enrollment, broken feeder patterns, and policy decisions that reinforce inequity. If AISD is the district we hope it can be, then every community, not just those with power and access, must be part of the solution-making process, even when those solutions require sacrifice.

When we talk about magnet programs, fine arts academies, and Montessori options, we must ask:

• Who benefits most?

• Do these programs reflect our equity commitments?

• Are they transparently accessed and equitably funded?

• At what cost are we attempting to boost enrollment numbers, and how much do these programs inadvertently draw from the district’s limited resources—often at the expense of neighborhood schools?

To bring it back to the now two “choices”: no matter which option is selected, Dobie will be starting over—from Year Two back to Year Zero. Over the last five years, repeated resets caused by leadership turnover, staffing instability, and systemic shifts have taken a steep toll. These losses aren’t just operational; they’re emotional.

As a coach, this reflects what I hear from staff: most aren’t leaving because they don’t believe in Dobie—they’re leaving because they feel the weight of systemic barriers and don’t trust that the system will allow them to stay and do their work. Worse, they fear staying only to face the same disruption again.

This isn’t about blame. It’s about visibility. These are the invisible barriers too often overlooked by those outside our community.

Dobie doesn’t just need to be “saved.” It needs to be seen, supported, and validated. We need a fully resourced, community-rooted school on the East Side. And more importantly in this moment, we need leadership willing to speak honestly about race, power, and privilege.

Equity work demands discomfort—especially from those who have long lived in comfort.

As Franklin Leonard wisely said, “When you’re accustomed to privilege, equity feels like oppression.” That dynamic is playing out in real time.

Whatever the board decides, the long-term work does not begin or end with a vote. The Dobie community is committed to healing, and we will persist. We will organize. We will advocate. And we will remember who stood with us.

Dobie may still have a chance to pursue a district-led Restart with reassignment as a backup, depending on the 2024–25 STAAR results—yes, the test we took a few days after we learned our school was at risk of closure. But that path only has integrity if it honors the original promise: a vision shaped by the community, protection from charter takeovers, and a backup plan that reflects district values.

The hard truth is we may have lost this immediate battle. But the greater fight for just, community-rooted public education is far from over. The Dobie community will continue to heal, to organize, and to lead. And we invite all who believe in equity to stand with us in the work ahead:

• To reimagine zoning policies to stop segregating our schools

• To redesign feeder patterns to promote integration and access

• To rethink attendance boundaries to reflect demographic equity

• To demand funding models that truly serve all students

That could mean redrawing school zones to balance socioeconomic and racial diversity across campuses, rather than isolating poverty in one and privilege in another. For example, if two adjacent schools serve dramatically different demographics, a revised boundary could ensure both campuses reflect the full diversity of the community. Some districts even use “controlled choice” models to promote integration while honoring family preference. The goal is not to uproot, but to rebalance.

Equity is not a moment. It’s a movement. Let’s move forward together.

Solidarity begins with listening. Transformation begins with trust. Let’s build from there.

Sources: Darling-Hammond, L. (2017). Restarting and Sustaining School Improvement: Lessons from Research. Learning Policy Institute. Texas Education Agency (TEA). (2023). SB 1882 Partnerships Guidance Manual. National Education Policy Center (2022). Charter Schools and Students with Disabilities: Access, Equity, and Accountability. TEA. (2023). Charter School Performance Framework Summary. AISD Enrollment Data Dashboard (2024). Texas Academic Performance Reports (TAPR), TEA, 2023. Civil Rights Project, UCLA (2021). Still Segregated: How Race, Class, and Policy Shape American Schools. Austin ISD School Profile: Dobie Middle School (2024). Tuma, L. (2025, April 25). AISD considers moving hundreds of students from Dobie to Lamar. The Austin Chronicle.

Fix the Soil, Not the School: Why Sustainable Change Matters for Dobie

Texas Education Agency 2023 Accountability Ratings: Highlighting Austin ISD Schools Rated A and F

The views and opinions expressed in this piece are solely my own and do not represent the views, policies, or positions of Austin ISD or any affiliated organizations.

These past three weeks — filled with the turmoil of Dobie facing a high risk of closure, constant and often conflicting updates, shifting policies, and urgent advocacy efforts — have been a hyperbolic example of what it’s like to work at Dobie, or at a school like ours: centering kids, even at the expense of your own well-being. Late nights. Early mornings. Busy weekends.

While I’ve been pouring into our students and community, I also have two young children at home who need their mom. They deserve quality time with me, too. And too often, I find myself giving them what’s left — not what they deserve.

With the TEA’s recent extension delaying the board’s decision on Dobie’s future by a few more months, I’ve had time to reflect — not just on these past few weeks, but on the past several years. And it’s led me to ask: what was the number one thing, as a coach, that truly impacted our classrooms at Dobie?

Here’s what I’ve realized: schools like ours cannot thrive under debilitating pressure. It’s like expecting a plant to flourish without healthy soil. Year after year, we look at our spring crop and wonder why our plants aren’t thriving.

The answer is simple: it’s not the plant. It’s the soil.

Dobie's challenges aren't isolated — they are part of a larger systemic issue rooted in Austin’s historic East-West education divide, where schools serving primarily Black, Brown, and low-income students have long been under-supported, as clearly reflected in the accountability map above.

This systemic inequity leads Eastside schools like Dobie, Webb, and Burnet to feel trapped under the crushing pressure of state accountability ratings. Adding more pressure to perform next year — say, moving from an F to a D — demands unsustainable, Herculean efforts. And even then, educators are left wondering: Is my school safe? Will it be enough?
Or worse: Am I enough?

In this kind of environment, few teachers or administrators feel safe enough to take real risks unless they know there’s room for mistakes and growth. Yet any healthy system needs that space. It’s the foundation of true coaching culture and a real growth mindset.

Over the years, I’ve watched some of our most talented instructors walk away from East Austin schools after receiving years of failing test scores, even after pouring in immense effort and heart. I’ve seen others break their backs to achieve minimal growth — working after hours, on weekends, sacrificing time with their families for the needs of their students.

And let’s not forget the toll this takes on our physical health. Chronic stress and illness are closely linked. I've lost count of how many educators I've seen burn the candle at both ends — especially during testing season, which now stretches from January to May — only to compromise their immune systems and end up sick. This leads to teachers missing work, others scrambling to cover an already under-resourced school, and resentment simmering beneath the surface.

That’s not a healthy culture.
But we don’t have time to be sick.
We don’t have time to rest.
We don’t have time to thrive.

This isn’t about fixing Dobie. It’s about fixing the soil — fixing the system.

Austin ISD’s 2023 Equity Report Summary clearly outlines bold actions, and this moment demands exactly that. Bold action means building sustainable schools for our most vulnerable students and leading with equity in every tough decision. Today, Austin ISD still distributes resources based on enrollment — not on student or community needs. This model doesn’t work for campuses like Dobie and other underperforming Eastside schools, and here’s why:

• Many neighborhood students transfer to higher-ranked schools across town, often seeking better-resourced environments. This lowers enrollment numbers at Eastside campuses — and because funding and staffing are based on those numbers, it drains resources from the very schools that need them most.

• When students transfer out, the student population that remains often has greater academic, social, and emotional needs. Without enough staffing or support, it becomes harder to meet those needs — and standardized test scores suffer, feeding a vicious cycle of disinvestment and blame.

• High mobility rates make the problem even worse. Schools like Dobie can gain more than 250 new students in the middle of the year — many arriving after staffing is finalized in the fall. Yet no additional resources follow those students midyear, stretching teachers and support staff far too thin.

Expecting schools to succeed without adjusting for these realities is like asking a plant to grow without enough water, sunlight, or nutrients.

If we want true equity, we must fund schools based on what they need to thrive.

However, as a long-time East Austin educator, I know the most precious resource we need is unhurried time — time to build a sustainable school model and work toward a real legacy, not just another quick fix.

It may be hard to believe that something as simple as time is the key to such a complex puzzle. But it's not just about time itself — it's about the conditions that unhurried time creates. Time allows for critical thinking, thoughtful planning, playful learning environment, deep collaboration, and the building of a long-term vision. As Marie Beecham wisely says, Privilege isn’t the presence of perks and benefits. It’s the absence of obstacles and barriers. That’s a lot harder to notice. If you have a hard time recognizing your privileges, focus on what you don’t have to go through. Let that fuel your empathy and action.

In our context, the absence of constant crisis is a privilege. Schools need breathing room to thrive. One year isn’t enough to build a sustainable school environment. In my opinion, even two years isn’t enough under the current attacks on public education. The updated 2022–2023 STAAR test is harder and disproportionately impacts students who are already academically behind. Meanwhile, advocates are spending so much energy fighting to defend public education that we are in a state of survival, and there’s little time or space remaining to center making it better.

We need to reset the clock and start building toward a stronger, more sustainable future.

Dobie was in the middle of a stable year one before major disruption in the community occurred — ironically, two days before STAAR testing season. These last three weeks — marked by a rushed, high-pressure community engagement process — have been exhausting and harmful to the very community we serve.

When teachers are exhausted and scared, our students feel it too.

Our children deserve better. And so do the people who show up for them every day.

If we do not consistently lead with our values and vision, especially during challenging seasons, we risk ending up right back where we started, or worse: burning through the very talent we should be fighting to retain, eroding trust with our communities by reacting instead of responding, exhausting our teachers, and treating educators as disposable. High teacher turnover isn’t just bad for schools — it’s bad for kids.

I fear many of our most talented educators are already leaving. Even those who want to stay and fight alongside our community are reaching the same hard realization: I love my students. I love my campus community. I love my leaders. But I cannot thrive in a school with such high, unrelenting stakes — always living in fear of closure and job insecurity.

Please don’t get me wrong. I want our school open.
But if I had to choose between two more years of high-stakes survival or five more years of true sustainability, I  would choose the latter — even if it means finding a temporary home for our students and teachers while we build a better Dobie. Because that’s what our school community truly deserves — not just another chance at survival, but a new, healthy soil where we can finally flourish.

Trust, talent, and stability are the roots of a thriving school.

I firmly believe we move at the speed of trust. And right now, what we need to rebuild trust is time — time to heal the soil and reimagine something better.

Our community deserves a future where teacher and student growth are prioritized, schools are sustainable, and students can truly thrive.

Together, we have the power — and the responsibility — to change the story for every student on both sides of I-35.

📣 Calls to Action:

✨ If this resonates with you, please share this story. Elevating educator voices matters.

📧 Contact the AISD Board of Trustees and ask them to prioritize sustainability like the actions listed in the Austin ISD 2023 Equity Report, not just accountability: trustees@austinisd.org

🗓️ Attend an upcoming AISD Board Meeting on Thursday, May 22nd at 6pm to advocate for long-term investment in historically underserved schools: Board Regular Voting Meeting | Austin ISD

🤝 Support organizations and leaders fighting for equitable, sustainable public education in Austin. Learn more and support Austin Voices for Education and Youth (AVEY).

More Than a Test Score: Why Dobie Deserves a Future

A Moment of Hope in a Time of Uncertainty

At the 2025 Save Texas Schools Rally, Dobie Middle School Mariachi students stood on the steps of the Texas State Capitol and sang De Colores—a joyful, layered song celebrating unity. They had just learned their school might close at the end of the academic year.

And still, they sang.

It stopped me in my tracks: students showing up with beauty, hope, and pride in the face of deep uncertainty. For them—and all of us at Dobie—this school is so much more than a test score.

A School Full of Heart, Culture, and Growth

As the STEM Instructional Coach at Dobie, I witness something remarkable daily: a community of students, families, and educators creating something beautiful despite challenges that don’t always show up in data.

Yes, Dobie faces obstacles. But it’s also where creativity thrives, culture is honored, and academic progress is growing quietly. Dismissing that progress due to outdated metrics or political pressure is deeply demoralizing.

Dobie is not a failing school — Dobie has been failed by an accountability system that refuses to see the full story of our students and community.

The Threat of Closure—and What We Stand to Lose

Dobie is at risk of closure as part of the district’s response to state accountability pressure. If it’s Dobie today, who’s next?

We know what happens when schools like ours are closed: displacing students and redirecting promised bond funds won’t fix systemic issues. It will dismantle a thriving fine arts program, destabilize students already facing housing and language barriers, and erase gains made through consistent leadership and community investment.

We’re not asking for special treatment—we’re asking for a fair chance. Protecting Dobie is about protecting all schools at risk.

The Takeover Narrative: What’s Really at Stake?

Some argue that closure is necessary to avoid a Texas Education Agency (TEA) takeover due to Dobie’s multi-year “F” rating. That pressure is real. But what’s the cost?

State law allows a district takeover after five consecutive “unacceptable” ratings—but these accountability systems haven’t adapted to post-pandemic realities or the needs of high-mobility, multilingual campuses like ours.

Accountability matters. But it should be about supporting students — not punishing schools for the challenges their communities face.

Alternatives to Closure Exist

Other Texas districts have met TEA requirements without closing schools—and without relinquishing local control. Proven options include:

• Partnering with trusted local organizations 

• High-quality community-based transformation plans

• Sustained interventions under consistent leadership

These models demonstrate that meaningful turnaround is possible when districts invest in support, not abandonment. 

What Closure Doesn’t Solve

Closure may sidestep a state-level problem—but it inflicts real harm. It disrupts students—many refugees or new arrivals—and breaks trust between families and schools.

Research shows closures rarely improve academic outcomes. Instead, they often lead to drops in test scores, graduation rates, and long-term earnings—especially in marginalized communities.

Leadership Decisions: What Questions Must Be Asked?

🔹 Where was our Plan B? AISD was aware of the lawsuit to delay A–F ratings for years but didn’t appear to plan for the lawsuit’s failure. Where was the proactive strategy?

🔹 Where’s the accountability for failed support? Years of leadership turnover, external monitoring, and district-designed improvement plans didn’t deliver. Why should Dobie students bear that burden?

🔹 Why no backup beyond the LASO grant? Was Dobie’s future dependent on winning one highly competitive grant after the lawsuits were already in motion? Where’s the long-term vision for sustainability?

🔹 What happened to the 2022 Bond funds? Voters approved Dobie’s major modernization. The groundbreaking community ceremony was scheduled for this week—then abruptly canceled. Where is that money going, and how will AISD remain accountable?

A Campus in Transition—and on the Rise

Many of our students transition from dual-language elementary schools into English-only testing environments. Dobie has an extremely high mobility rate, with over 250 new students arriving mid-year. Still, this year brought more consistent leadership and shared vision than we've seen in years. Progress is happening—but it takes time.

We are a community. We are educators, parents, students, and neighbors. Closing Dobie won’t fix inequities — it will deepen them. Our students deserve investment, not abandonment.

This is bigger than Dobie.

Schools across Texas — and the country — are facing the same harmful policies. But right now, we are fighting for our school, our students, and our community. What’s happening reflects a larger pattern across Austin ISD — and raises an important question for all of us: What kind of district do we want to be?

AISD’s own 2023 Equity Assessment confirmed what many in St. John, Rundberg, and North East Austin have known for years: Schools serving Black, Brown, immigrant, and working-class students have faced chronic underinvestment — despite navigating the greatest challenges.

That same report warned: that closing or taking over schools in historically marginalized communities risks deepening harm — especially without meaningful community engagement.

And yet here we are.

Dobie Middle School — a trusted home for immigrant, emergent bilingual, and working-class families — is now at risk of closure or charter takeover. Not because of a lack of talent or care. However because of a flawed accountability system that reduces students to test scores while ignoring real barriers like housing instability, language transitions, and high mobility.

This decision is unfolding with:

→ Little transparency about our choices
→ Rushed community engagement — all during STAAR testing
→ And a voter-approved modernization project for Dobie — with a groundbreaking ceremony scheduled for this week — suddenly canceled.

This isn’t just about Dobie’s future — it’s about trust, justice, and the kind of district our students deserve.

AISD’s own Equity Assessment called for more investment in community school models like Dobie — not less. These models work because they meet students and families where they are, providing real support, not punishment.

We believe there’s still a choice:
→ To honor commitments
→ To center community voice
→ To invest in students, not displace them

What We’re Asking For

We’re not asking to be excused. We’re asking to be seen—in full context, with care.

We ask for:

• An equity-centered turnaround model that keeps Dobie public and partners with trusted community organizations (e.g., Austin Voices)

• Transparency and community input on the 2022 Bond funds

• A full accounting of whether closures truly help students—or simply relieve political pressure

• Answers to the questions above (Leadership Decisions: What Questions Must Be Asked?)

Let’s Lead with Courage, Not Compliance

The question isn’t whether AISD is under pressure—it’s how we respond without abandoning our values or our most vulnerable students.

Dobie deserves investment, not erasure. If we get this right—not just for Dobie, but for any school under threat—we create a blueprint for ethical, community-centered transformation.

Just like our new Roadrunners football team, we’re building something great. They haven’t had time to develop fully—but the foundation is there. With support and consistency, they’ll improve.

You wouldn’t pull a team off the field in the first quarter. Don’t pull the plug on Dobie now.

This is bigger than Dobie.

This is about what kind of district we want to be.

Do we want to be a district that abandons schools facing the greatest challenges — or a district that invests in their success?

Dobie is ready to rise. Our students are ready to rise. We need leadership willing to rise with us.

#SaveDobie #SiSePuede #DobieStrong

These reflections are my own and do not represent the official stance of AISD.

📣 How You Can Help

🗓 Public Comment Opportunities:

• Sign the Petition: https://chng.it/KfK6Lw7sVT

• Board Info Session: Thurs, April 10
  Sign up to speak or record a message by calling 512-414-0130
  (April 9 from 3:30–4:45 p.m. or April 10 from 7:45 a.m.–4:30 p.m.)

• Community Meeting: Mon, April 14 at Dobie Middle School, 5:30 p.m.

• Board Public Hearing: Thurs, April 24 at 5:30 p.m.

📧 Email the AISD Board of Trustees: trustees@austinisd.org
🔗 More info: austinisd.org/board/meetings

📚 Sources & Research for Further Reading

1. National Education Policy Center – Do School Closures Work?

2. University of Chicago – School Closures and Long-Term Student Outcomes

3. Intercultural Development Research Association (IDRA) – Equity in Accountability

4. Houston Chronicle – Wheatley HS Turnaround Avoids Closure

5. 2024 Austin ISD Equity Report: https://www.austinisd.org/organizational-transformation/equity-assessment

6. Research on the impact of school closures:

• “The Effects of School Closures on Student Achievement” – A report by the National Bureau of Economic Research examining the long-term consequences of school closures on students' academic performance.

• “The Economic and Social Impact of School Closures” – Brookings Institution, which discusses the broader effects of school closures, including educational and social costs.

7. The Texas Education Agency (TEA) accountability system:

• Texas Education Agency, “Accountability Ratings” – Overview of the TEA's accountability ratings, including the policies that determine when a school is at risk of closure or state takeover.

• “Understanding the Texas Accountability System” – Texas Education Agency resources explaining the accountability and rating system used to determine school performance.

8. Impacts on marginalized communities:

• “School Closures, Segregation, and Equity” – American Educational Research Journal – Examines the disproportionate impact of school closures on marginalized communities and communities of color.

• “Educational Inequality and School Closures in the U.S.” – The Century Foundation – Discusses how school closures exacerbate racial and socioeconomic inequalities.

9. Alternative school improvement models:

• “Community Schools: A Strategy for Raising Student Achievement” – The Center for American Progress – A report on how community-based schools and partnerships can improve educational outcomes without resorting to closures.

• “Community Schools and Transformative Education” – The Learning Policy Institute – Discusses models of community schools that have helped stabilize schools in high-need areas.

10. General reports on public education and its challenges:

• “The COVID-19 Pandemic’s Impact on Education” – National Center for Education Statistics (NCES) – A comprehensive study on how the pandemic affected education, particularly in terms of achievement gaps.

• “The State of Texas Public Education” – Texas Association of School Administrators – Provides insights into the challenges Texas schools face, including funding, leadership turnover, and the impact of accountability systems.

To My Daughter, and All We Hold Dear

After the Election: A Letter in Many Directions. These words poured out the morning after. A morning heavy with uncertainty, resolve, and deep remembering. They are for all of us—those grieving, those rising, and those holding on to hope because we must.

Reflections for my daughter, our schools, and our ancestors—written in the wake of the recent election results.

To My Daughter, and All We Hold Dear

You may not remember this chapter,
but your body will—
just as our ancestors’ bodies remembered.

Water never forgets its form,
and our veins carry their pulse.
You are part of that ancient river.
You carry more than memory.
You carry continuity.

To Our Teachers

May you find strength
in the sacred weight of this call—
shouldering it with grace,
honored by all who know
what it is to stare injustice in the face
and say,
Not today.

You do more than instruct.
You ignite.
You protect.
You remind us what it means
to show up with courage.

To the Parents

We are without perfect answers,
only imperfect hearts that break for our children.

Still, we cry—openly.
We breathe.
We rise again with the sun.
We pack lunches, sign permission slips,
offer soft landings.
We love in the quiet,
and that love becomes our strength.

To the Children

Born into storms and fire,
you arrive knowing what we had to learn the hard way.

May you keep that spark—
the one that finds courage in kindness,
power in softness,
truth in togetherness.

You are the ones we’ve been waiting for.
May we earn your trust
with our tenderness and truth.

To My Heart

You feel split in two—
a canyon deep and echoing.

But love rushes in.
Little by little,
community lowers rope and hand,
voice and presence,
until the hollow becomes holy.

And then—
overflow.

Onto our children,
our teachers,
our families,
our collective breath.

To the Ancestors

You walked so we could stand,
dreamed so we could strive.

We call on you now.
Let your songs run through us
like roots breaking stone.

Carve new rivers—
of strength,
of healing,
of unshakable hope
for those yet to come.

And in that carving,
we hear it—
our grandmothers’ song,
still humming beneath it all.

This is not the end.
This is remembering.
This is root work.
This is love, choosing to begin again.

#NurturedRoots #CollectiveHealing #AncestralWisdom #CommunityLove #WritingToHeal #Empowerment #HolisticWellness #WellnessCommunity #MindfulLiving #PoetryOfResistance #LoveInAction #ForTheFuture

Nurtured Roots Wellness Collective

🌿✨ Welcome to Nurtured Roots Wellness Collective ✨🌿

There’s a quiet knowing that lives in all of us—a desire to feel whole, connected, and grounded. At Nurtured Roots Wellness Collective, we listen to that knowing. Born in the heart of Austin, Texas, Nurtured Roots grew from a simple truth: healing begins at home, within ourselves and in the spaces where we feel most seen, most safe, most alive.

What began as a vision to bring together heart-centered practitioners in yoga, coaching, and healing arts. It has become a living, breathing collective rooted in care, cultural reverence, and connection. We don’t just offer wellness sessions; we create experiences that honor your full humanity.

🌱 Rooted in Holistic Growth

We believe growth happens when all parts of you—mind, body, and spirit—are seen and supported. That’s why we center our work on holistic growth: the kind that doesn’t rush or push, but instead unfolds gently, with intention. Whether you’re navigating change, recovering from burnout, or simply seeking a deeper sense of self, we’re here to walk beside you, not in front of you.

Our offerings blend modern and ancestral practices. Yoga becomes a space for embodiment and release. Sound becomes a reminder of your own natural rhythm. Coaching becomes a mirror for clarity and courage. Every session is designed with you in mind—not just who you are now, but who you're becoming.

🌀 A Return to Cultural Wisdom

We honor the wisdom traditions that ground our work—traditions shaped by land, lineage, and liberation. From ancestral healing tools like tarot and astrology to the sacred roots of yoga and ritual, we approach each offering with cultural humility and deep respect. Cultural heritage is something we honor, explore, and uplift in community.

🌞 What a Session Feels Like

Imagine your living room transformed into a sanctuary. The scent of grounding oils in the air. A yoga flow that meets your body exactly as it is. The hum of sound bowls softening the static in your mind. A coaching conversation that gently reveals what was already inside you, waiting.

Every session is a co-creation. You might choose:

• A personalized yoga practice to restore balance and breath

• A sound bath to help your nervous system unwind

• Presence-based coaching to help clarify your path forward

• A ritual circle, tarot reading, or astrology insight for spiritual alignment

These offerings are invitations. Choose what speaks to you, and let us hold space for what unfolds.

🌳 Community as a Healing Practice

Healing is sacred and it’s also social. At Nurtured Roots, community isn’t an add-on. It’s the container. Our circles, workshops, and shared rituals remind us that we’re not meant to do this alone. In a world that often disconnects us from ourselves and each other, we’re building spaces of nurtured connection where truth-telling, tenderness, and transformation are all welcome.

Whether you’re gathering with us virtually or welcoming our practitioners into your home, you’ll feel the strength of a collective that sees healing as a shared journey not a solitary one.

💚 An Invitation, Not a Prescription

Nurtured Roots is not a formula. It’s not about fixing, performing, or perfecting. It’s about coming home to yourself. Listening inward. Finding your own rhythm, again and again.

We’re not here to tell you how to heal. We’re here to hold space while you remember how.

So wherever you are on your path—seeking rest, clarity, connection, or change—know this: you are welcome here.

This is Nurtured Roots Wellness Collective.
Where your wholeness is honored.
Where your journey is sacred.
And where your growth is nurtured, from the roots up. 🌿

Follow here to be a part of the story: https://www.instagram.com/nurturedrootswellness

Rooted in Respect: My Evolving Yoga Practice

Yoga: A Practice of Respect, Union, and Cultural Awareness

Yoga is more than just a physical practice; it’s a profound journey of union, derived from the Sanskrit word Yuj, meaning "yoke" or "union." With deep roots in South Asia, yoga has transcended cultures and is now embraced across the globe. However, as we continue to grow in our practice, it’s essential to acknowledge a conversation that’s often overlooked: cultural appropriation, especially in the Western context of yoga.

As a yoga teacher here in Texas, I carry a deep awareness of the paradox that comes with being a white practitioner in a diverse cultural landscape. My introduction to yoga began in my teenage years, during meditation sessions led by my Buddhist high school coach in a small Texan town. Since then, I have had the privilege of learning from a lineage of dedicated practitioners who have taught me not only the physical aspects of yoga but also its cultural and historical significance. Among my teachers are Shawn Kent, Kielly Wolters, Shanti Kelley, Iva Drtina-Hall, Jenn Wooten, Colette Ouseley-Moynan, and Deb Flashenberg, each of whom has shaped my understanding of yoga’s rich history.

Yoga is not just an hour on the mat for me. It’s a way of life—a sacred philosophy that deserves our deepest respect and commitment to understanding. In this journey, I remain committed to being a lifelong learner, always evolving my practice while honoring the roots of yoga and its cultural significance. The more I learn, the more I realize the importance of cultural responsiveness and the need for respect in all aspects of my practice.

As a coach, my focus is on nurturing givers and healers—creatives, parents, and educators—who have been touched by trauma. This includes individuals with disabilities (like myself, as an adult-diagnosed ADHDer), people of color, and members of the LGBTQIA+ community (I identify as a late-blooming bi-gal). I strive to create a space where these diverse groups can come together, offering them the tools and wisdom of ancient practices to facilitate healing and growth.

My aim is to build a community of inclusion, healing, and shared growth, where yoga serves as a bridge—one that connects us to both ancient wisdom and to each other. In my practice and coaching, I am continually reminded of the privilege of sharing these teachings while also carrying the responsibility of honoring yoga’s origins and its rightful place in its ancestral context.

Together, we can create spaces that are not only transformative but also deeply respectful and culturally responsive, where everyone—regardless of their background or identity—can find healing, solace, and growth through yoga.

— H. E. Wong

Taming Gremlins: A Story of Presence and Power

Photo taken in Akureyri, Iceland by Heather Wong in June 2018.

To my first coach/teacher/cheerleader/queer ally, Buck Dodson: thank you for reflecting my light, holding space, and guiding me through somatic practices that didn’t just shift my thinking—they changed the entire trajectory of my career as a healer and coach.

For context: this is a self-reflection that came out of my fieldwork after my first coaching session with Buck.

Taming Gremlins: A Story of Presence and Power

Let’s get honest: I’m a firm believer in seeking support when the answer isn’t clear or the need is heavy—but that wasn’t always true for me. It takes courage to ask for help, especially when that help requires vulnerability and letting go of control.

And let me tell you, I like control. I’m the kind of person who micromanages every little detail—sometimes even other people’s details (yikes). I’ve had to learn to name and tame what I now call my thought gremlins.

Thought gremlins are the voices that jump in with fear disguised as logic or protection. Picture a blinking, heart-shaped red light saying, “STOP! RISK AHEAD! I’m just looking out for you, boo.” These internal messages often show up when I’m about to expand—when I’m inching toward more truth, more visibility, more impact.

One of my OG gremlins is anxious and cautious: “You sure you want to reach out to them? This could backfire…”
Another one sounds like a buttoned-up, hyper-rational lawyer: “You’ve spent a lot on self-care this month. Is this responsible?”
Those two? Very white. Very masculine. Very much trying to “manage the optics.”

I’ve got a whole cast of gremlins—different ages, races, energies—but let’s not forget my loudest one: the bully. Let’s call her Karen. Karen is judgmental as hell and hits below the belt:
“No one really likes you. They just tolerate you. Why would they care about your ideas?”
Juvenile. Petty. And unfortunately, persuasive if I’m not paying attention.

But I’ve also got another voice—the one I’m learning to trust more deeply. My gremlin-slayer. She’s fierce, femme, powerful. She’s the Nicki Minaj energy I didn’t know I needed: unapologetic, magnetic, wildly wise. She storms in like a hurricane when I remember who the hell I am.

She’s who I want to embody more often. The version of me that doesn’t ask for permission. That shares freely. That doesn’t apologize for taking up space.

But the truth is: I don’t always trust her. She’s still learning to live in my body. And every time I inch closer to her voice, one of the old gremlins pulls me back toward safety, toward smallness.

This blog is part of my practice. It’s how I get closer to her. Not perfectly. Not all at once. But post by post, breath by breath, I am learning to turn the volume down on Karen and up on the voice that knows my worth. But here’s the real work: not killing off the gremlins, but noticing them. Honoring them. And choosing—again and again—to respond from the most expansive, embodied version of myself.

That’s the practice. That’s the coaching. That’s the way through.