hope – Institute for Recruitment of Teachers

Executive Director Letter, October 2025

Harlem
Langston Hughes

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore—
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat
Or crust and sugar over—
like a syrupy sweet?

Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.

Or does it explode?

To be transparent, the last few months have also been difficult – I have met with numerous scholars who have had to defer due to personal circumstances or concerns regarding the state of education. To that end, I struggled to imagine what I could say in this newsletter to fully encapsulate this moment, a tension of both hope, sadness, and awareness. However, during my second Jimmy Fund Walk, I think I figured it out.

As I waved to the young cancer patients at Dana-Farber and took my first steps of the 5K, I realized that is all we can do. Put one foot in front of the other, even though we are vulnerable. Throughout the walk, I thought of how so many people in our community are affected by cancer – and yet we all continue to do our best. Those lessons, however small, apply to my feelings about our current reality in higher education. We may not know the outcome, but we can continue to move forward as best we can. To some degree, that is what our scholars are doing.

Executive Director Letter, June 2025

Congratulations to our IRT Scholars who have recently completed the IRT program and are preparing for their next steps! We know that this was not an easy year for graduate admissions, and we are proud of you regardless of your final decision. This year, I learned more from our scholars than I anticipated. I learned about their commitment, discipline, and unwavering hope and optimism, as well as their resolute belief in improving our education system, regardless of their location. I’m proud of what you accomplished, even if this year did not turn out as you anticipated.

Over the last few weeks, we have begun welcoming our newest cohort. This year, we experienced our highest virtual turnover ever for our Orientation, and we hope to continue building on our momentum of expanding our Summer Curriculum to all scholars via both asynchronous and synchronous virtual delivery. Our incoming cohort of over 130 scholars demonstrated a keen ability to articulate why they are invested in their research and goals at this critical time, as well as how this community can support one another. I am grateful to the IRT staff and Summer Workshop Faculty for developing and delivering our content.

Associate Director & Manager of Programs Update, June 2025

NCORE, Hope, and the Power of Collective Action at IRT

The recent NCORE conference in New York City was abuzz with keynotes, workshops, and conversations about hope and possibility in our ever-evolving educational landscape. But what truly resonated with me wasn’t just the aspirational talk; it was the tangible, on-the-ground manifestations of these ideals. We engaged in courageous intergenerational and cross-college conversations, actively building coalitions and fostering collective action.

This got me thinking: what does hope and possibility look like in real time for us at IRT?

Hope As a Practice

Viviana Cordero García, IRT ’15
Chief Alumni Success Officer, Esperanza Academy

Seven years ago, I walked through the doors of Esperanza Academy with big dreams and bigger questions. I was building my life as an educator and leader, a leader in a community that reminded me of my own—where stories of strength often begin with sacrifice. Since then, I’ve grown a program, a family, a team, and, most importantly, a deeper sense of what it means to sustain hope in times that test it.

Hope, esperanza, for me, is not wishful thinking. It is a practice. A verb. A discipline of presence.

I sustain hope by staying rooted in relationships—with my students and alumni, with their mothers and abuelitas, with my team, with fellow nonprofit leaders and board members who share in the long-haul work of justice, with my ancestors, and with the younger version of me who needed someone to say, “You belong here.” I hold space for grief and joy to exist at the same table because, in our community, they always do.