Copyright The Austin Chronicle
I know it’s hard to hear that your neighborhood school might close. I began my own journey 30 years ago as an ESL immigrant at Bryker Woods Elementary, now slated for closure – a small school where teachers, staff, and parents were deeply devoted to their community. Bryker Woods shaped my earliest understanding of what a public school can and should be: a place where every adult treats every child like their own, where excellence grows from care and connection. From there, I went on to Kealing, one of the only Latinas in the magnet program, and later to LASA, when it shared a campus with LBJ. I’ve experienced the racial and economic divides within Austin ISD – and I’ve also seen how much stronger we are when we bridge them. Today, as both an alumna and a parent, I share the pain that so many families are feeling. My beloved Bryker Woods is slated to close – a painful betrayal of its nearly century-old school song, “Bryker Woods Forever.” My children’s school, Sunset Valley Elementary – rich in heart, history, and bilingual pride – is too. Even our high school path has been rezoned from Austin High to Crockett. Change like this cuts deep. It disrupts routines, relationships, and the sense of belonging that schools anchor for so many families. But this moment is also a test – not just for AISD, but for all of us who call Austin home. It asks whether we truly believe in the promise of public education, or only in the parts of it that benefit us personally. Every parent wants what’s best for their own child. But public schools are a shared promise, not a private contract. When we fight only for our campus, our program, or our neighborhood, we shrink that promise. The truth is that school ratings and test scores reflect AISD’s baseline performance, not the worth of the students inside. Schools that appear “high-performing” often look that way because parent networks, donations, and advocacy fill the funding gaps left by an inequitable system. Those efforts are admirable – but they’re also privileges not available to all families. So yes, grief is part of this process – but also a teacher. It can teach us to stretch, to empathize, to look beyond what’s comfortable. This is our chance to model for our children what resilience, kindness, and compassion look like – not as words on a classroom poster, but as values lived out loud. To my neighbors with privilege or power, racial or otherwise – I ask you to stay open. Listen before reacting. When you speak up, let it be to improve the plan, not to stop it. Ask how AISD will ensure safe transitions, support teachers, and preserve community bonds. Demand transparency and equity – but don’t demand exemption. We have to shift from protecting advantage to expanding opportunity. That means engaging with the process, not abandoning it. This is not the first time Austin has faced a crossroads, and it won’t be the last. But our children are watching how we show up right now. They are learning what it means to lead – whether we model generosity or retreat into self-preservation. Let’s show them that in Austin, we rise to hard moments with courage and compassion. That we can mourn what’s being lost while still working toward what must be built. That we understand our shared future depends not on saving a single school, but on saving the promise that every child in every ZIP code deserves an excellent education. Because all children are our children. And that’s a truth worth fighting for – together. Angela De Hoyos Hart is an Austin ISD alumna and parent. After immigrating to Austin at 5 years old, she began her education at Bryker Woods Elementary, attended Kealing and LASA, and now has children at Sunset Valley Elementary. She works in tech, raises chickens, and writes about equity, education, and the future of public schools in Austin believing all people are her people. Got something to say? The Chronicle welcomes opinion pieces on any topic from the community. Submit yours now at austinchronicle.com/opinion. This article appears in October 31 • 2025.
