Roses Talk: Elevating At-Promise Student Voices in San José Unified is a Stanford Center for Racial Justice Law and Policy Lab (LAW 809X/EDUC 309X) that seeks to directly address persistent disparities in education by centering “at-promise” student voices in education policy and practice. In the course, Stanford students conduct interviews and focus groups with the most marginalized students at Gunderson High School, a Title I school in San José Unified School District (SJUSD). Using this data, students will develop policy recommendations that inform school and district decision making, particularly on how to engage and improve outcomes for at-promise students across the district. As part of their coursework, students author a series of independent blog posts that offer insight into their experiences. These reflections not only document their learning but also contribute to an ongoing dialogue about education in the U.S., particularly by amplifying the voices of the young people they work with.
A Teacher-to-Be’s Reflection on Listening and Learning from Students | Zoe Edelman
I entered “Roses Talk” excited for the opportunity to work with students to learn and reimagine their educational experiences; the lessons and experiences which I already know will impact me when I am a teacher after I graduate in June. Coming off of the past few months working at a Washington D.C. high school of around 350 students, all Black, I knew a school in San José would reflect the demographic differences between the two cities (in terms of race, immigration status, and English language learner status). I knew broad outlines of Gunderson High School’s demographics, learning the school was majority Latino, with the district’s most robust special education programming at the high school level. The specifics, however, I was admittedly largely unaware of. I imagined the “California high school” of television in my mind—sprawling, outdoor hallways and high ceilings.
I also knew I was coming in as an outsider. I am not from San José, nor even the state. I come from a different background than many of the students we are working with; the privilege of the Stanford academy and institution backing myself and our class’ research project, as well as my own personal educational and economic privilege throughout life. As a mixed-race Black and white woman growing up in D.C., I saw a good chunk of people who looked like me, or, at the very least, like my various family members. On the other hand, the demographics of the Bay Area—and San José, as reflected in Gunderson—are highly unfamiliar to me. These differences I carry with me as I enter Gunderson, not with an associated positive or negative charge, but as a reminder of their impact on what I bring to this research project and engagements with students. And largely, the similarities—not differences—have stood out to me: in both schools, across the country from one another, I have so far interacted with students with similar zeal for life, desire for rich connections with others, and repeated instances of their needs not being met throughout their schooling journeys.
Arriving at Gunderson to meet with the principal and introduce the project to students was more of a flash from the past than expected. I was right that the high school looked nothing like the building I recall from days spent at my 5th-12th grade public charter school: the layout was very open, with high ceilings covering a well-stocked library and dull grey brutalist columns lining the wall. But I still was reminded of my own high school years, the rush of a passing period between classes and the desire to find a friend or shrink into the background or share a smile. We made our way to an empty classroom, arranging the desks into the (sometimes dreaded) semi-circle. As students shuffled in, it was clear they did not know why the principal had brought them into the room with a bunch of smiling 20-somethings. As we began to describe our research, expressions remained quizzical—“Is this sorta awkward?” We laughed with them as they glanced around the room—and a few nods appeared. After, we got a wonderful student-led tour, with a kind student showing us her pictures in the photography lab.
Returning for our first day of interviews this past week, I entered the building with a shy familiarity, grateful that the student my classmate Andrea and I were set to speak with was willing to be vulnerable with us—even as my own stomach fluttered with mini butterflies. Our interview was comfortable, beginning with jokes about snacks of choice (fruit snacks, we all agreed) and filled with wise and thoughtful reflections. I was awed that this student was willing to share honestly, entrusting us with this project and, ultimately, to offer suggestions in hopes of improving educational outcomes in the school and district. Of course, more reflections than can be covered in this blog abound about how important the reciprocation of research and outcome sharing with those you learned from is: in this case, the students!
I hope our class can end on the note of meeting with the students and discussing their thoughts on the project’s outcomes. I also am deeply grateful for the class camaraderie and culture we have built; every week I feel re-inspired by each of my classmates’ commitments to education. Including Sara, a wonderful former teacher who radiates so much love and support and I do not doubt was every kid’s favorite teacher. Passing it on!
The Power of Student Voice in Education Policy | Sara Sarmiento
My years as a classroom teacher were my launching pad to law school. Having spent the past three years teaching pre-K and third grade in Miami-Dade County, my approach to this project is rooted in the belief that every child carries infinite wisdom in their lived experiences. When I enter classroom spaces, I embody intersecting positionalities that make the mosaic that is me. I am a former teacher, a law student, a first-generation college/graduate student, an immigrant, a student with learning disabilities—the list goes on. As a part of this policy lab, I am fortunate enough to be working with a team unafraid to bring their full selves to the table and to this research. We are all passionate about at-promise students, storytelling, and the power of community voices to influence change.
Coming into this experience, my background in education was mostly at the primary/elementary level. Admittedly, I always shied away from high schoolers during my time as an educator because I feared that I would not know how to engage students within that age range. This experience has drastically strengthened my appreciation for the power of teenagers to shape the world around them. As we engage with students, I am touched by their trust, candor, and true interest in leaving Gunderson High School better than they found it. When thoughtfully reflecting on their schooling, they are both critical and generous, imaginative and strategic. But most of all, they have a thirst for answers and information, paired with a keen awareness that they don’t want to lose out on opportunities because of the obstacles they’ve faced. If the concept of “growth mindset” is alive anywhere, it’s in these students.
The hardest part about this research for me is realizing how my positionality as an educator has changed in law school. I am used to being a public school teacher unafraid of advocating for her students through the good, the bad, and the ugly. When I walk into a school I feel a sense of home and familiarity, despite being 3,000 miles away from my home. This time around, I am not the teacher but the researcher. I don’t have the chance to build relationships with students over a school year, but over the course of interviews and focus groups. While I wish I had more time with these students, I am also overflowing with gratitude for every minute I am able to work on this project. Unlike in my own classroom, I am finally able to bridge the gap between student voice and public policy in the ways I always wished to as a teacher.
If I can leave you with one takeaway, it is that these students aren’t our future—indeed, they are our present. And they are ready to show up so long as their voices are respected and honored for what they truly are: the best compass to guide us towards education’s true north.
Zoe Edelman (BA ’25) (she/her) is a senior from Washington, D.C. interested in Black history and education. At Stanford, she studies History with a minor in Political Science, and aims to use her academic background to contribute to radically supportive and de-colonial educational experiences for students. Over the past six months, Zoe has worked at two public charter schools—in New York City and D.C.—assisting students in English and math classes. She will be teaching full time in her hometown of D.C. beginning in fall 2025. On campus, Zoe has participated in journalism, student divestment organizing, and various history research projects. In her free time, she enjoys walking/running, hanging out with her dogs Jack and Kona, and drinking an iced coffee.
Sara Sarmiento (JD ’27) (she/they) is a 1L at Stanford Law School. Originally from Bogotá, Colombia, and growing up in Miami, FL, she is a proud first-generation immigrant and first-generation college/law student. Their academic interests are broadly within the intersections of race, immigration, law, youth and education. They were a Posse Foundation Scholar at Mount Holyoke College, graduating in 2021 with B.A. degrees in International Relations and Critical Social Thought. Prior to SLS, Sara was an elementary school ELA teacher in her hometown, Miami, FL, working primarily with English as a Second Language (ESL) and special education students. At Stanford, she is a member of the Education Defense Pro-Bono Project. In her free time, you can find them crocheting or taking long walks with her cat, Dorita.
Follow the Stanford Center for Racial Justice on LinkedIn and Instagram and subscribe to our newsletter.
