By Andrea Johnson, Senior Director of State Policy and Strategy
Mr. Walz—as he will forever be known to me and his former students—was my high school teacher in Mankato, Minnesota in the late ‘90s/early ‘00s. He built the set for my senior play and was always out in the hallways with a big smile checking on how we were doing, even if we weren’t in his class. Mrs. Walz was my American Literature teacher and every impeccably organized, tabbed, and highlighted binder I have created in the last 20+ years can be credited back to her.
Here are two lessons I learned from Mr. and Mrs. Walz, one many years ago and one just recently:
Lesson 1: How to create safe and inclusive schools
I vividly remember sitting in Mr. Walz’s classroom one day (probably shivering because low-rise jeans and crop tops were popular, even in Minnesota) and listening to him teach when another classmate interrupted with some snide comment and a couple other students joined in. These students hated school and were known to “act out.” I had seen so many teachers get mad at those students and shut them down or just ignore them.
But Mr. Walz didn’t do that—he brought those students in. I watched him actively engage them in conversation instead of dismissing them. Mr. Walz sought to make them feel valued as students and as people who had something to contribute.
Mr. Walz was the first person who showed me what an inclusive school and inclusive teaching could look like—something I now fight for at the National Women’s Law Center Action Fund—and something our country needs so badly right now. He was known for authentically connecting with, supporting, and remembering (still to this day) all students, from the theater and orchestra nerds (me), to the football players, to the shy kids, to the straight-A students and the students who struggled academically. Mr. Walz also supervised my high school’s Gay Straight Alliance. In our current climate where extremists are seeking to exclude and erase so many students from our schools, especially students of color and queer, trans, and nonbinary students, Mr. Walz’s example feels even more important.
Each of us was a better student because Mr. Walz saw and affirmed our identities and humanity.
Lesson 2: The power of sharing our fertility treatment journeys
Fast forward twenty-two years, and now I’m watching Mr. and Mrs. Walz alongside Kamala Harris doing what they’ve always done—fight to lift us all up, including my ability to make decisions for my family and my health.
For a little over a year, I’ve been going through fertility treatments. I became pregnant with the help of IUI last fall, and had to cancel a trip to a state with an abortion ban because I feared I wouldn’t be able to get the care I needed if I miscarried. The recent heart-breaking stories of Amber Thurman and Candi Miller dying due to Georgia’s abortion ban underscore this terrifying reality. I did end up miscarrying, but in a state that still guarantees my right to basic health care. I was able to make a decision about my care with my doctor quickly and with dignity…and live.
I started my first round of IVF just a few days after the Alabama Supreme Court decided frozen embryos are persons under state law, causing many Alabamians to lose access to fertility care overnight and sending shock waves nationwide. When I first heard Mr. and Mrs. Walz publicly share their fertility treatment journey shortly after that, I welled up with pride seeing them normalizing fertility treatment and normalizing it as a struggle that deeply impacts men too. But I also welled up with up with anger. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Walz— nor anyone else —should have to publicly share their private health care decisions in order to protect our rights to health care.
Still, I saw the power of them sharing their story and started to share mine more publicly too. I am currently in the midst of IVF round four after three unsuccessful previous rounds. Part of me feels weary and beleaguered as I prepare to give myself my shots every night. But I do not feel alone: I hear Mr. Walz’s booming, smiling voice cheering me on. And I hear Mrs. Walz’s “teacher voice”—a voice that all of us who took her class viscerally remember—and I think “Mind your own business, JD Vance and Donald Trump,” and feel fired up and ready to go again.