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Introduction
Introduction
This page documents portions of my participation in a global field experience through Costa Rica, in partnership with San José State University and UPEACE. During this social justice and education-focused trip, we visited NGOs and schools and had the opportunity to meet people from various geographic and societal parts of the country. This experience catalyzed deeper critical reflection on my complicity in systems of power, particularly capitalism, whiteness, and consumption, and challenged me to live more consciously in alignment with my values. On a personal level, I also noticed how my human need for belonging can sometimes make it easier for me to ignore my values and go along with the status quo. Throughout the journey, I kept thinking: What would Paulo Freire think of this? Hence the theme—What Would Paulo Freire Do(WWPFD)? In this photovoice reflection, I attempt to align Freire's critical pedagogy, humanism, and dialogic theory from Pedagogy of the Oppressed, with my observations to deepen my learning for meaningful connections to my dissertation work on equity and social-emotional learning for English Learners. Through this lens, each photo becomes not just a visual memory, but a critical site of inquiry.
This photo is a small portion of the Los Cuadros community.
Los Cuadros
Los Cuadros
Before I could fully examine my own complicity, my heart had to break open. This happened on our visit to Los Cuadros, a community primarily composed of Nicaraguan immigrants and of the most vulnerable people in Costa Rica. We met mothers and grandmothers holding their children and full of dreams. The juxtaposition was stark: these families live with so few material resources, but their hearts, hopes, and humanity were just as radiant and worthy as anyone else’s.
This experience made the violence of capitalism feel real, not theoretical. I could see the stratification and how social hierarchies are maintained through systemic denial of opportunity and mobility. And yet, what moved me most was the resilience of the human heart and spirit. The pure love coming from the people we met allowed me to listen, feel, and learn. Without that, the rest of the trip might have stayed in my head instead of landing in my soul.
While Freire dedicated much of his life to educating communities to read both the word and the world, he understood that liberation requires transformation of both the oppressed and the oppressor. He believed that true freedom comes not from charity, but from consciousness, dialogue, and action.
WWPFD: If he were here, I believe Freire would call on people like me—not to feel noble for visiting a marginalized community, but to reflect on what my presence means, and more importantly, what I do afterward. Organizations like Boy with a Ball are doing essential work to empower and educate from within. But Freire would say the work isn’t complete unless those with power and privilege are also brought into vulnerability and accountability.
In my whiteness and privilege, it’s easy to leave Los Cuadros with a false sense of generosity: a warm heart, a few journal pages, some gratitude. But Freire’s words haunt me with a deeper question: What will I do to fight and destroy the causes that create these conditions in the first place? That is the true test of solidarity—not sentiment, but sustained action.
This photo is a mural on a building in the small downtown of Monte Verde, Costa Rica. English Translation: Our fight is for all.
This photo is the top of the MonteVerde Cloud Forest view from a hanging bridge self guided tour.
MonteVerde
MonteVerde
This mural sits quietly on a wall in downtown Monteverde, Costa Rica, but its message, “Nuestra lucha es para todos” (“Our fight is for all”), echoed in me long after I passed it. I first saw it while walking in a light drizzle that quickly became a downpour. I had just arrived, riding on the bus through winding jungle roads, surrounded by a cloud forest that felt like a hug for both my lungs and spirit. At the time, the mural struck me as a beautiful piece of local expression. But after several days in Monteverde, it became something more: a question.
Costa Rica’s national reforestation campaign is a global model of environmental repair. Since 1948, forest coverage has increased from just 14% of the land to over 55% today. Monteverde’s role in that transformation is often linked to the arrival of Quakers from Alabama in the 1950s. They left the U.S. seeking peace and religious freedom, and eventually helped preserve the cloud forest and build an economy centered around ecotourism and conservation. The leaders I met in MonteVerde spoke highly of Quaker involvement and influence. But as I stood before this mural, I wondered: Whose fight is this? And who benefits from the progress?
This is where Paulo Freire’s framework gave me language. Freire warned that liberation must be with the people, not for them. While the Quakers promote values like dialogue and consensus, Freire would likely push deeper: Who owns the land? Who gets to define sustainability? Are working-class Costa Ricans and Indigenous communities included in decision-making? or are they employed as caretakers of a vision they didn’t design? SHared values were evident in Monteverde, but shared resources were not clear.
Later, at the Monteverde Institute, we did explore circular economies with Irene González, a model that centers sustainability through regenerative systems and community learning. Besides bringing some clarity to the work being done in MonteVerde in keeping resources utilized and shared, that session shifted something in me. I began to see how even my “conscious consumerism” masks complicity in global systems of harm. I had called myself an ethical shopper, but rarely questioned how much I buy, or who is exploited in the process.
WWPFD: Freire would not only encourage the type of inquiry we experienced at the Institute; he would sit down to lunch with farmers, workers, and youth: listening first, always dialoguing, and insisting on co-created knowledge rooted in lived experience.
“Our fight is for all.” Freire would ask—does all truly include those priced out of their own town? And if not, how can education, dialogue, and collective action make that statement real?
This community, built on ocean conservation and intergenerational knowledge, offered us the chance to participate in fishing alongside local leaders. As a vegan, I found myself in an ethical dilemma. I struggled to speak up. I didn’t want to seem disrespectful or ungrateful, but I also didn’t want to betray my core values. Eventually, I shared that I wouldn’t participate in catching fish. That act, while small, was difficult. That desire to belong and go with the flow was very loud in my head before I spoke up.
I appreciated the simplicity of the practices and the clarity of the community’s values. What I saw in them was the same drive I have: to live with integrity, protect the environment, and stay connected to life and land. Their sustainability model wasn’t theoretical; it was survival. And their values weren’t in conflict with mine, we were simply expressing them in different ways.
WWPFD: What would Paolo Freire do? He would praise this communities ability to stay in dialogue with each other and continuously transform the systems which try to take over the shared responsibility and benefit that is embodied here. Tarcoles embodies liberation as co-created ,as opposed to given by outsiders.
The El Toledo Coffee Farm visit brought my learning full circle into my heart. Gabriel Calderon, the owner/farmer (with his Dad), spoke openly about his journey from conventional to organic farming, his disillusionment with monoculture, and the troubling inefficiency of coffee production itself. He recognized his own hypocrisy in being a coffee farmer but knowing how much waste and overuse of resources is involved. His continuous and active seeking of ways to diversify the farm and reduce waste was inspiring. He changed me with his powerful play on words that hit me, “We don’t make any sense, we just make money.”
Structural oppression and environmental harm are reproduced by people who see themselves as “doing the right thing.” It is not enough for me to be aware; I must adjust how I live, shop, and lead. Gabriel embodied this constant growth (and struggle) of doing better once you know better.
WWPFD: What would Paolo Freire do? He would be Gabriel's best friend. Gabriel modeled what Freire calls praxis—the ongoing cycle of reflection and action. He inspired me not to aim for perfection, but to live with greater congruence between my values and my choices.
SAN JOSE - Cedes Don Bosco School
SAN JOSE - Cedes Don Bosco School
While visiting CEDES Don Bosco in San José, I found myself deeply reflective about the type of education being offered. The school provides hands-on technical training and emphasizes moral development, forming “buenos cristianos y honrados ciudadanos”, an approach rooted in care, community, and structure. However, I couldn’t help but wonder: what Paulo Freire would think? While the institution promotes spiritual and vocational formation, I saw little evidence of student voice, critical dialogue, or opportunities for young people to question the world around them. The pedagogical model seemed grounded more in obedience than in liberation.
Freire cautions that, “The more students work at storing the deposits entrusted to them, the less they develop the critical consciousness which would result from their intervention in the world as transformers of that world” (p. 73).
In this context, students appear to be preparing for integration into existing systems, labor markets, religious norms, and social hierarchies, rather than being equipped to challenge or reimagine them.
WWPFD: Freire would likely call the school to move beyond producing technically skilled workers and morally upright citizens, and instead cultivate critical thinkers who can engage in transforming unjust systems.
In relation to my work and commitment to global education, I am still grappling with how we make that shift. My dissertation research focuses on the power of social-emotional learning (SEL) to support this kind of transformation, especially for historically marginalized multilingual learners. As California and my district face urgent demands to graduate more students who are bilingual and proficient in English, I ask myself: How do we ensure we are doing more than simply preparing students to assimilate into an inequitable system? How can we, instead, empower them to question, co-create, and lead new, more just communities?
CONCLUSION
CONCLUSION
As an educator and leader in California, I return home asking: How do I talk about global education without reproducing charity models? How do I help my students and colleagues see themselves not just as helpers, but as co-liberators? This experience has shifted how I frame equity work. It’s not about giving back, but rather about giving up power, listening longer, and changing the systems I’m a part of.
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