By Meagan O’Toole-Pitts
On a chilly February afternoon in 2008, I joined a caravan of protesters headed to Austin to oppose ASARCO’s attempt to reopen its copper smelter in El Paso. I was 21, in between server jobs, freelancing and donating plasma to get by.
When I learned ASARCO might pollute our city again, I packed a change of clothes and a disposable camera and boarded an overnight bus.
We arrived at the Texas Commission on Environmental Quality in the morning. Protesters filled the open field adjacent to the building. I joined the chants. I marched with purpose. My whole heart hinged on that decision. ASARCO had already poisoned our air, water and soil.
I believed justice would prevail. But the TCEQ board voted 2-1 to approve ASARCO’s air permit. The commissioners said their hands were tied by the Texas Clean Air Act, which legally required them to approve the permit – effectively grandfathering ASARCO’s abuse of the region.
I ran out of the building, erupting in tears when I felt the cold air and warm sun. I felt naive. I learned justice is not promised. I learned that putting your heart on the line can hurt immensely.
ASARCO ultimately chose not to reopen, not because it was in the best interest of children nearby, but because it wasn’t profitable.
I didn’t protest again until 2017, when Duranguito was being demolished. I showed up, bracing for defeat. That time, we won, but not because the city decided to listen to its people. Duranguito remains a part of our city because the City Council tired of lawsuits funded by millionaire J.P. Bryan, an energy entrepreneur, historic preservationist and descendant of Stephen F. Austin, commonly known as the “Father of Texas.”
My faith didn’t return. I still felt powerless.
This year, on César Chávez Day at San Jacinto Plaza, I heard UTEP professor Ruby Montana speak and watched a performance by UTEP’s Department of Theatre & Dance. The expression of pain on the dancers’ faces pierced me and my eyes welled. Professor Montana urged us to visit the Amanacer People’s Project table. I did.
Soon I was attending meetings and, on May 3, canvassing. The day before, I drove past the empty dirt lot where Oran M. Roberts Elementary once stood, staring in disbelief. It was closed in 2021, so this was an expected result, but the sight of it was still shockingly dystopic.
So, I chose to walk neighborhoods and talk to voters on Election Day. I wanted them to know: two El Paso Independent School District board members on the ballot were prioritizing the voices of ultra-wealthy donors Woody Hunt and Richard Castro over the voices of more than 319,000 registered voters in El Paso.
Charter schools, which are promoted by these donors, siphon public funding and often exclude students with disabilities. Many don’t offer transportation. Many don’t participate in the federal free lunch program.
I’m not a public educator. I’m not a parent. But I know that parents’ and teachers’ voices should matter. I know that in a democracy, public interest must outweigh private wealth. A society ruled by the wealthy few is not a democracy. Rather, it’s a plutocracy.
That night, I walked through the alley behind Pink Cloud to the patio where election night celebrations were underway. I heard a muffled voice talking over the PA system and cheers echoing off the tall rock walls. I ran. I arrived breathless.
Amaneceristas embraced me. And suddenly, I was an Amanecerista. I’d only canvassed that day, but when the results came in and the crowd erupted in jubilant pandemonium, they assured me it was my win, too.
Only 4,701 votes were cast in the four EPISD school board races, about 5% of the registered voters in those districts. I talked to maybe a handful of voters. But those votes mattered. And my voice mattered. I had helped enact a positive change. I had power, and so did the people in my community.
When I saw El Paso Teachers Association President Norma De La Rosa crying tears of joy at the possibility of a future where educators’ voices matter, I felt something return. Not just hope. Agency. Empowerment. Faith. The belief that we, as individuals and as a community, can shape our future.
On May 3, we ousted both incumbents backed by ultra-wealthy donors. We stood up for kids who rely on buses and school meals. We stood up for those students who depend on the accessibility of our public school system. We were able to take a step toward ensuring equity in our city.
We reminded everyone, including ourselves: decision-making belongs to us, not wealthy donors who think they know what’s best.
Now that I know I have power, I’ll use it. I’ll wield it in defense of my community. I’ll remind every El Pasoan I converse with: your voice matters. Expect justice. Demand it. Fight for it. You don’t need a million dollars. You just need a willingness to believe the power remains the people’s.
Meagan O’Toole-Pitts is a writer and community advocate based in El Paso. She volunteers with the Amanecer People’s Project and is not affiliated with any political party, lobbying organization, or special interest group.
The post Opinion: School board elections prove that passion can defeat money appeared first on El Paso Matters.
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