As the daughter of two educators, I grew up deeply immersed in their ethos, witnessing as they seamlessly integrated their teaching into the fabric of our broader community. Education, in their world and mine, was never merely about the transmission of knowledge; it was about creating spaces for hope and possibility in a fractured world.

My teaching philosophy is rooted in critical pedagogies and pedagogies of discomfort. It draws upon decolonial and Women of Color feminist praxes that unsettle, challenge, and ultimately deepen critical understandings. I introduce students to disciplines, theories, and methodologies as ethical tools and strategies for confronting injustice in its myriad forms. Teaching, in this sense, becomes a form of activism—an avenue for transformative change. It asks students to grapple with difficult questions while equipping them with the lenses to view their communities, histories, and futures in radically different ways. In that act of grappling lies immense power and possibility.

In these unsettling times, my teaching has increasingly focused on the ongoing genocide in Palestine. While I regularly teach about oppression, injustice, and structural and cultural violence, recent events have demanded a sharper focus. I have been using these frameworks to help students understand the history of Israeli settler colonial occupation, the everyday mechanisms that sustain apartheid regimes, and how these systems impinge on the lives of Palestinians who simultaneously endure and resist them. I highlight the concept of cultural violence for students: how the systematic dehumanization of Palestinians in political, media, and popular discourse justifies acts of genocidal violence.

Teaching about these issues extends beyond the provision of knowledge; it is about equipping students with the language to name what must be named, even in the face of repression and silencing on university campuses and beyond. This silencing is not benign; it is a form of institutionalized violence. Silence and misrecognition are powerful tools for normalizing the status quo, and they must be challenged at every turn. Central to this work is fostering an understanding of interconnected struggles. Oppressions do not operate in silos, and neither should our responses to them. In my teaching and mentoring, I emphasize the significance of solidarity—not as a performative gesture, but as a fundamental reorientation of how we approach our work and relationships.

Equally vital to my teaching is nourishing and amplifying student organizing and activism. Student movements compel institutions to confront their complicity while building the collective power necessary for transformative change. As an educator, I see it as my responsibility to stand in solidarity with students—to offer mentorship and encouragement, act as a buffer against institutional retaliation, and, where possible, leverage institutional resources to support their efforts.

Across my teaching and mentoring, I strive to cultivate shared accountability. Education, after all, is not just an academic exercise; it is an ethical practice. By illuminating the intersections of oppression, supporting student activism, and fostering solidarity, I hope to inspire my students to remain steadfast in their collective commitment to imagine and work toward more just futures.

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