Social Science (SS) – ETHS 2430
Chican* & Latin* Experiences
This course examined the evolution of Latin* and Chican* communities in response to historical trauma and modern social issues. From Indigeneity and immigration to empowerment and cultural reimagining, we traced the movements and moments that continue shaping these communities in the U.S.
Signature Project: ETHS 2430 Presentation
This final project synthesized my understanding of systemic injustice and grassroots resistance, centered around the Black Futures Lab — but critically examining what gets lost when justice becomes a subscription model.
Reflection
This assignment didn’t feel like a moment of discovery for me. Instead, it became a mirror. It was an uncomfortable, necessary checkpoint where I re-evaluated not what I learned, but what’s still broken within the systems we study and the very core of the curriculum itself. While most students likely approached this project as a chance to explore activism, I approached it already knowing the root causes. I already understood the cycles of systemic harm that give rise to organizations like the Black Futures Lab. For me, the project didn’t introduce me to injustice. It just gave me another reminder of how little is done to prevent it.
With my thoughts applied, I started realizing that all of this, activism, protests, organizing, the constant pushback, isn’t a flaw of America. It is America. This cycle of resistance is what the country runs on. The very existence of groups like the Black Futures Lab doesn’t just highlight injustice. It highlights how the U.S. functions. We’ve normalized crisis-response activism so deeply that it becomes part of the national rhythm: oppression, resistance, repeat. And the curriculum often treats these movements like optional case studies instead of what they really are: evidence of a country that was built, and continues to evolve, through constant confrontation. Without activism, what even is left? A country that silences, erases, and stagnates.
For this particular group, founded by the same individual who co-founded Black Lives Matter, I respect the foundation of it. It is built on data-driven activism, political visibility, and pushing Black voices to the center of policy conversations. But I kept circling back to a single question: What exactly comes from it? We celebrate free speech, but then what? Visibility without structural change starts to feel like performance. These organizations get national headlines. They push for reform. They mobilize voters. But the systems they are fighting? Still intact. Still violent. Still slow to move.
And then there is the part nobody really wants to talk about: money. Activism is a business now. To be a part of some of these groups, to access their trainings or become a certified community advocate, you have to pay. And it is not cheap. Somewhere along the way, the fight for justice started carrying a price tag, and that complicates everything. When activism becomes something you subscribe to, something that operates on tiers of access, it stops feeling grassroots. It starts feeling like a nonprofit-industrial complex where the cause gets swallowed up by branding, funding, and strategic optics. Should justice really come with a membership fee?
To be honest, I am still not sure what the actual answer to my research question is, if there even is one. I set out trying to understand the effectiveness of activist groups like the Black Futures Lab, but the more I worked on it, the more I realized I didn’t know what I was looking for as the mic drop. What does success even look like when the power structures stay intact regardless? No matter how strong the message, how refined the data, or how passionate the movement, these organizations don’t get to call the final shots. That power stays locked behind institutions that were never designed to listen in the first place. That is what evolved for me over the semester, not the content, but my relationship to it. I stopped chasing a resolution and started sitting with the complexity. It is not satisfying, and it is not supposed to be. But it is real. And sometimes reality is just… vibing in disappointment.
There wasn’t really a surprise waiting for me at the end of this project. If anything, the entire process confirmed what I already knew. This is how America operates. It thrives on activism because it thrives on conflict. We are a country powered by protest and the occasional performative Instagram infographic. The research didn’t feel new. The writing didn’t feel groundbreaking. It all made sense in a way that was honestly kind of predictable. I didn’t walk away with a deeper sense of hope or clarity, just a reminder that the cycle continues. I did the assignments. I followed the steps. The system stayed exactly the same. A plot twist? Couldn’t find one.
And the longer I sat with it, the more I realized this. The more activist groups that pop up, the more tension there is between you and society if, God forbid, you don’t fully agree with one of them. Suddenly, you are the villain in someone’s Twitter thread. The pressure to perform allyship in just the right way turns activism into a social tightrope walk. That polarization doesn’t always come from the system. Sometimes it is from within the movements themselves. Maybe that is the real lesson I pulled from all this. Even when the mission is justice, the vibe can still be exhausting.
Throughout this semester, I saw a lot of overlap between this signature assignment and the other courses I have taken at SLCC, especially HON 2060: American Identities, HON 2100: The Human Experience Through Storytelling, and International Politics. But to be honest, the connection wasn’t about discovery. It was about repetition. I have already been deep in these conversations about identity, activism, systemic power, and visibility. Those classes didn’t just touch on those topics. They tore them open. So when I started researching organizations like the Black Futures Lab, it didn’t feel like new ground. It felt like reviewing something I have already emotionally processed. I wasn’t connecting the dots. I was retracing them, again and again, wondering why they still need to be redrawn every semester.
There were also ties to my Criminal Justice courses, especially around the illusion of reform and how systems are built to maintain power, not distribute it. In theory, we talk about laws and rights. But in practice, I am watching communities fight for the bare minimum while institutions stay ten steps ahead. The writing side of the project also pulled from what I have practiced in English and Humanities. How to build arguments that aren’t just academically sound, but also emotionally aware. And still, the deeper I went, the more I realized this. These lessons didn’t shock me anymore. They didn’t stretch me. They just reminded me how heavy it is to already know.
I am studying nursing. I want to help people. But in today’s woke America, trust isn’t always based on skill or dedication. It is based on perception. And I don’t fit the profile. I am Mexican, and I look Asian. That alone puts me outside of what some people expect or want in a professional, no matter how qualified I am. So yes, I have learned a lot, but most of it has been confirmation. Of how the system sees me. Of what I am up against. Of how much harder I have to work just to prove what I already know.
At the end of the day, you won’t always be the first. They just make sure you know you were never meant to be.