A Promise We Keep Showing Up For: Health, Healing, and the Power of Youth-Led Community at the People’s Theatre Academy

By Leticia Cortes Ortiz

When I first began working with young people at the People’s Theatre Academy, I thought I was entering a space rooted primarily in artistic expression. What I found instead was a laboratory for health equity, one where young people wrestle with what it means to be whole, to be seen, and to be responsible for one another. The Academy serves middle and high school students, primarily youth of color from immigrant and working-class families. We meet weekly on Wednesdays and Thursdays from 5–7 p.m., but my day starts much earlier. As the Youth & Family Advocate, I arrive by 3:30 p.m. to open the studios, greet students as they trickle in after school, and hold space for whatever they’re carrying with them that day - exhaustion, excitement, grief, etc.
​
It is easy to forget that health is not simply a matter of hospitals and diagnoses. Health is social. Health is political. Health is relational. Health is about the conditions that either deny or affirm human dignity. Health is about whether our systems allow young people to flourish - not as statistics or outcomes, but as full persons in community with others.

---

The young people I work with are often navigating complex realities: racial injustice, displacement, underfunded schools, and generational expectations. These are not abstract policy matters. They manifest in very real ways: anxiety attacks before school, difficulty sleeping, reluctance to speak freely in public spaces.
​
They carry these burdens quietly at times, and loudly at others. But in the ensemble, something shifts. They begin to understand that they are not alone. They begin to recognize one another’s struggles as part of something shared, and worthy of collective care.
​
In that context, our theatre program is not simply about performance. It is about rehearsal as a practice of reclaiming agency. A place to tell hard truths. A rehearsal for the kind of society where no one is left behind. Within the ensemble, students reimagine community, not as a passive inheritance, but as something they co-create.

Dominant narratives often frame youth who are struggling as individual cases in need of intervention. But what happens when we understand a student’s silence not as a deficit but as a strategy for survival in a world that often refuses to listen?

I do not ask what is wrong with them. Rather, I assess “What are they bringing into the room today?” Some arrive angry. Others, exhausted. Some simply need to sit quietly for five minutes before they can engage. Rather than forcing productivity, we center emotional regulation and collective care. Rather than treating those needs as obstacles, we honor them as part of the process. We’ve developed rhythms and rituals that help us regulate together: grounding activities, check-ins, space to decompress without explanation. In those quiet moments, something sacred happens. A new kind of trust forms, one based not on performance, but presence. My work as a Youth & Family Advocate is not an add-on - it is central to how we build health equity into the curriculum.
This kind of communal holding affirms that well-being is never just an individual matter. We rise and fall with one another. Healing is a shared journey.

This year, our students used their voices to advocate for a more just and equitable world. They wrote letters to their council members asking for safer streets, access to the arts, and more green spaces. They lobbied locally for arts education funding. One student launched her own storefront bakery, an offering to her community as much as an act of personal agency. Two students got into college with scholarships, despite receiving minimal support from their high schools. One class performed at a citywide rally for public arts, standing tall in defense of collective joy.

And yet, one of the most telling signs of impact is what happens inside the studios. The longer students stay with us, the harder it can be, not because they are "disrespectful" or “rowdy teenagers” (they are not), but because they begin to advocate for themselves with precision and clarity. They question directives. They ask for accommodations. They challenge power. We often joke among staff, “This is what we get for teaching them to speak up.” But beneath the laughter is a recognition: this is exactly the point.

In a world that too often silences or disciplines youth, giving them space to challenge us -  lovingly, boldly - is a sign of care, not disorder. It's a way of practicing justice on a small scale. Health equity requires that young people gain the tools to shape the conditions of their lives. And that often starts with their willingness to disagree.

Theatre has long been a tool for political critique. But in this space, it is also a space of becoming. I’ve watched students begin to articulate their needs, assert their boundaries, and care for one another in ways that mirror a world we are all trying to build. Working with our students has reoriented my understanding of health equity. It is not only about changing policy, though that matters. It is about changing relationships - between youth and adults, between people and systems, between trauma and the possibility of repair.

From them, that I’ve truly learned that:

• Health equity begins with who gets to speak and who is believed.
• True safety is built (from bravery) by communities, not institutions.
• Mental health must be supported collectively, not just individually.
• Real equity honors inherent human worth, beyond success or productivity.
• Joy, art, and celebration are not extras, they are central to justice.

These lessons are not always neat or easy, but they are necessary. Working with young people is a constant reminder that healing is political, that we are responsible for one another, and that community is a promise we keep showing up for. Transformation often begins in the smallest gestures: a shared breath, a brave story, a refusal to disappear. And at the heart of it all is a quiet, radical belief: Every person matters, and no one is beyond restoration.

Image Credit: Emmanuel Abbreu. Courtesy of The People's Theatre.
​
Author’s Bio
Leticia Cortes Ortiz (Youth & Family Advocate) is a trauma-informed ethicist and advocate born and raised in Caguas, Puerto Rico. She holds an M.A. in Ethics & Society from Fordham University, with a concentration in community and humanitarian programming. Her academic research has been published by Johns Hopkins, Penn State, and the Marshall Institute for Ethical Thought and Action. She serves on the District 10 Co-Governance Group and is a judge for the National High School Ethics Bowl. Leticia’s work bridges social ethics with youth development, ensuring that every student is supported both artistically and holistically. A former young performer herself, she deeply believes in theatre as a tool for self-advocacy, civic engagement, and leadership development. Her work centers on building systems of care, amplifying marginalized voices, and driving forward equitable, mission-aligned programming that uplifts the full humanity of the communities The People’s Theatre serves.
​