Good afternoon NEA! And an extra-special hello to my folks right up front here. Aaron, Jeff, Rachael, and all of the PSEA delegation. I’m so happy to be here with you. You will tire of my voice long before I tire of your support!
President Pringle and the entire NEA leadership team, thank you for this invitation. It is an incredible honor to be here, among these people, in this moment.
I know what’s at stake today. We all do. And I know how this speech is supposed to end. But before we get going, I think we ought to take a pause. It is July, another school year has come to a close, and we deserve to acknowledge that achievement.
The work we do—in classrooms and libraries and nurses' offices and school buses—is extraordinary. It’s complicated and demanding and ever-changing, but it is also joyful, unexpected, deeply human—and incredibly collaborative.
We are the cultivators of learning and belonging. We are the ones who unlock potential, who nurture talent, who stay after the bell and show up before the sun. At every level and in every facet of American education, we challenge, we question, we adapt, we create—and we do so together.
I am a first generation college graduate, my education is my most valuable possession. But I didn’t earn it alone. I owe my success to my teachers who demanded my very best, to my counselors who guided my path, to my grandmother who was a school secretary, my grandfather who was a custodian, my great grandmother who was a cafeteria worker. I stand here as living proof of our collective influence and our fundamental belief: public education is a public good.
This union works tirelessly on so. many. issues. The list of areas in need is never-ending. But let us celebrate where we all began, where we will always belong. We are educators. We are mentors. We are stewards. We guide. We lead. We serve.
That’s what binds us here today—not just strategy or slogans, but an unwavering love for our kids and our communities. Education is a noble calling and an incredible life of service. Please, let us take a moment to give this affirmation the round of applause you all deserve.
Okay…let’s begin.
What’s good for educators is what’s good for students.
That’s the gospel according to Adam Weber, one of our UniServ reps in Pennsylvania. Two years ago, he repeated it again and again to our Bargaining School at PSEA’s summer leadership conference until every one of us could recite it like a nursery rhyme.
Since then, it has become a mantra I will not whisper. What is good for educators is what is good for students.
But I wasn’t always so certain. For my first decade or so in teaching, like so many of us, I believed the best way to serve my students was to neglect myself. I wore exhaustion like a badge of honor. I poured every ounce of energy into my classroom, convincing myself that if their cup was full, then surely mine was too.
But there’s a difference between being altruistic and being self-sacrificing. And through the work of my union—through the solidarity and support of educators like you—I came to understand something transformative: the best way to advocate for our students truly is to advocate for ourselves.
All of us have a union “origin story.” It’s the moment in our careers when our place shifts from passive dues-payer to active participant. For my mentor, hers was instantaneous—it was the day she signed her teaching contract, because as a child, she watched her parents stand on the picket line. But for me, it took longer. I joined the union because she told me I had to, not because I understood the power it held.
The pandemic washed away my naivety. As I sat at home in nearly-empty Zoom rooms, suddenly, the job I had given so much of myself to was unrecognizable; the public had become increasingly critical, and the future had never been so uncertain. I started to confront a brutal question: Who am I if I’m not teaching? What happens if I walk away?
But then, something shifted.
Because while the world was spinning, my local was centering. They fought for COVID sick banks, 1:1 laptops, robust contact tracing, and the grace we deserved as we navigated the unknown.
For our members, they became the leaders we needed. But for me—they became my solid ground.
And that solid ground became a launching pad. Once I started paying attention—once I realized how deeply political our profession had always been—I knew I could no longer simply stay on the sidelines.
So I stepped up. I got involved. I found my people. And my people helped me to find my voice.
A lot has changed since that ah-ha moment I had two years ago.
My first state-wide union event was our political institute in January 2024 followed a few months later by our PA House of Delegates. I remember in those spaces, in those moments, there was such a collective enthusiasm and optimism. In PA, Senator Bob Casey was still our ally on the hill, and President Pringle was telling us we deserved to win all the things.
But this past March, at our National Leadership Summit in Detroit, I encountered a different NEA. I could still feel the energy, but looming overtop of it was a sense of urgency, a tenacity, a burden of what the future may hold.
It is difficult to feel any sense of assurance when the best path forward has become an ever-moving target. But amidst the unknown, I am confident we can find comfort and resilience in what we do know.
And what we know is this: Respect doesn’t begin with a soundbite or a promise—it begins with us.
In how we show up.
In how we raise our voices.
In how we refuse to accept anything less than what our students and our colleagues deserve.
We stand here, resolved, not just for ourselves, but for our communities, our schools, and our students.
I stand here for CJ and Tucker, because the internet company refused to provide service to their rural address.
I stand here for Jayden, Gavin, and Luz who needed a support system more than they needed the student handbook.
I stand here for my sister, Sydney. Born in Vietnam and raised in central PA. In her 16 years of education, she never had a teacher who looked like her.
I stand here for the 70 teachers furloughed from my district during the great recession, and for my friend, Marissa, who resigned from her dream job to save herself.
We are the guardians—not just of our curricula and our classrooms—but of the conditions that allow our schools to thrive. I say this with full conviction, every day, but especially today:
Protecting education is how we protect our democracy.
America’s schools are one of the greatest democratic institutions we all share.
They are where kids learn to think critically, collaborate respectfully, and dream boundlessly.
They are where voices are heard, where differences are explored, and where possibility begins.
I teach in a rural, well-established community. My best friend’s house is older than our country. You can drive 40 minutes in either direction from our football field and you will still be in our school district. Out of pure curiosity, I did some Googling: there are three times as many cows in Mifflin County as there are kids. Chickens outnumber humans almost 3 to 1.
It can be easy for kids to feel confined to the expectations of their hometowns, especially where I come from. But school is where every kid learns—their upbringing is not a limitation, it’s a foundation. And that transformational shift comes from the opportunities we so carefully design. It comes from the efforts of educators.
Two weeks ago, one of our athletes ran a national championship-winning, 4-minute mile. For the past two years, our Technology Student Association has taken top honors at their national competition. Last month, 20 of our kids joined a growing group of alumni who have stamped their first passports on their school trip to Europe. And last week, those students and their families overflowed our board room in defense of their music program.
In my small town, I have celebrated with graduates as they earned their acceptance to military academies, Ivy-league schools, and community colleges. As they’ve received full ride scholarships and their family’s first-ever high school diplomas.
These stories, these moments of courage, accomplishment, and pride—they are why education is so important. In our classrooms, a child’s possibility transforms into potential and blossoms into prosperity.
We know what’s at stake. If our schools falter—if education is disrupted by disinvestment or division—then we don’t just lose a school system.
We lose our future.
But we don’t have to ask, “What do we do now?” We know this lesson plan. We’ve passed this test before. We. Have. All. The. Answers.
We recite, we repeat, we embody the undeniable, inalienable truth: What’s good for educators is what’s good for students.
NEA is what’s good for educators; union solidarity is what’s good for educators; dignity in our contracts and respect in our expertise and regard for our humanity is what’s good for educators. Equity in our classrooms is what’s good for educators. Investments in teacher retention and recruitment is what’s good for educators. Safe schools are what’s good for educators.
And when educators have what is good and necessary to do their jobs, America’s children become the real benefactors. That support is what enables us to recognize, to validate, to empower, to celebrate our students.
In this moment of challenge and consequence, I keep coming back to a poster that has hung in my classroom since my first day of teaching, Margaret Mead’s words of truth: “Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”
We are that group. In every classroom, on every playground, at every board meeting.
We are thoughtful. We are committed. And we are powerful.
A union of educators is a union of advocacy, of camaraderie, of empathy. And it is one more opportunity for us to lead by example for the students we serve.
Now, more than ever, we are tasked with building a better future. With the strength of our union, a resilience that dares to endure, and a heart that has no bounds, I know we can find common ground. I know we can build forward progress. I know we can meet this moment. For our kids, for our colleagues, for our country.
Thank you.
Media Contact
- Celeste Fernandez
- [email protected]
