Reflective & Op-Ed

FEMA has released another national study. Meanwhile, communities and frontline workers have spent years telling institutions what is wrong, what is needed, and what is coming. Why weren't we listening? By Moni Avila, Ed.D. I am angry. Not a little frustrated or disappointed. I am angry. I am blue in the face from saying the same things for years, watching the warning signs grow, and seeing institutions continue operating as though the people closest to the problems have nothi

By M.E. Avila October is Domestic Violence Awareness Month, and I've been thinking about what safety really means. We often talk about domestic violence in terms of leaving, getting help, and starting over. But I wonder how often we stop to think about what that actually looks like for someone. Where do you go when you have nowhere to go? How do you start over when you don't have the financial means to do so? What happens when the person you're trying to get away from is als

A Reflection for Domestic Violence Awareness Month By M.E. Avila Every October, Domestic Violence Awareness Month creates space to talk about safety, survivors, and the systems people rely upon when home is no longer safe. For those working in disaster response and Mass Care, it also presents an opportunity to consider a question that may not immediately come to mind when we think about sheltering, feeding, emergency assistance, and recovery: What happens when the disaster i

By M.E. Avila I believe deeply in the promise of Community-Based Participatory Research. At its best, CBPR allows researchers and communities to learn together, build knowledge together, and create something that is useful beyond a publication or research project. But I also think we have to acknowledge that many of us are still not getting it right. We have become good at using words like community engagement, lived experience, equity, and community voice. But using the lang

By M.E. Avila Today, at 46 years old, I made what I jokingly called a “grownup” purchase. I hired a contractor to build a carport. Earlier this year, I started remodeling my kitchen and installed AC units to make my home more comfortable. To someone else, these may look like ordinary home improvements. To me, they are evidence that my life has changed. For much of my adult life, I lived in survival mode. Domestic violence, financial abuse, instability, raising children, and s

By M.E. Avila Decisions about communities are made every day. Officials decide which programs receive funding, where services are located, what gets expanded, what gets cut, and where investments are made. Usually, there is data behind those decisions. We have budgets, needs assessments, performance measures, demographic information, and program outcomes. There should be data. But after years of living and working alongside community, while also working inside institutions ma

By M.E. Avila On August 28, 2026, a severe storm moved through San Antonio, bringing destructive winds, heavy rain, flooding, downed trees and power lines, and widespread power outages. More than 100,000 CPS Energy customers lost electricity at the height of the event. Among the hardest hit areas was ZIP code 78207 on San Antonio's Westside, where more than 15,000 customers were reportedly affected. In the hours and days that followed, families needed electricity, food, water

NATIONAL COMMUNITY HEALTH WORKER AWARENESS WEEK Why Community Health Workers Deserve More Than Recognition By M.E. Avila Trust is not a soft outcome of community health work. It is the infrastructure that makes every other outcome possible. Every year, National Community Health Worker Awareness Week gives institutions an opportunity to celebrate the people who connect communities to health care, public health, social services, emergency response, and other systems that shap

By M.E. Avila Twenty-nine years have passed since the West French Place massacre, but when I think of Christopher Tobias, August 1997 does not feel very far away. Christopher was someone I had a middle school crush on. To the world, his name became one of five listed in news reports about one of San Antonio’s most notorious crimes. To those of us who knew him, he was not just a name, a victim, or a young man described as being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was a pe

By M. E. Avila Domestic violence organizations exist because society recognizes that abuse is not simply about physical violence. It is about power. It is about control. It is about the gradual erosion of another person's confidence, autonomy, and ability to make decisions for themselves. Every day, advocates help survivors identify these patterns, understand how they operate, and begin the difficult process of reclaiming their voice. The work is rooted in restoring dignity,

By M.E. Avila One of the greatest lessons I learned as a Culture of Health Leadership Institute (CoHLI) Fellow was that health equity is never just about healthcare. It is about relationships. It is about power. It is about trust. Most importantly, it is about whether our institutions are willing to hold themselves to the same standards they expect from the communities they serve. That lesson has stayed with me throughout my career. Whether I have been working alongside commu

When I wrote When Survivors Lose Control of Their Story Again, I believed I was writing about one experience. I have since realized I was writing about something much larger. I wrote about what it feels like when a survivor begins to lose control of their story again. I did not realize I was also writing about what happens when trust begins to change. Since publishing that article, survivors, advocates, colleagues, friends, and complete strangers have reached out to me. Many

By M. E. Avila I thought I had healed. Not in the simplistic way people often imagine healing, nor in a way that erased what happened or made the memories disappear. I knew those experiences would always be a part of me. But I believed I had reached a place where my story belonged to me. I thought I would decide when to tell it, who to tell it to, and how much of it I chose to share. That choice mattered because, for much of my life, I did not have many choices. I am a surviv