Summer of environmental advocacy: A truer equation for public service

PCJ in the Bay Fellow Stories: Belinda Castenada

The whistles from football practice slice through the summer air as the sun drops behind the eucalyptus trees. I’m standing at the fence with a clipboard, an iPad with the survey loaded, and a practiced line: “Hello! My name is Belinda and I am from Nuestra Casa, a nonprofit located in East Palo Alto. Have you heard of the SAFER Bay Project that's happening in your community? Do you have 2-3 minutes to take a quick survey in exchange for a $10 giftcard?” At first, parents look wary. Then, one waves me over. Within minutes, people are calling, “We’ll take the survey next!” That small shift from hesitation to invitation became the heartbeat of my fellowship.

This summer I worked with Nuestra Casa in East Palo Alto on the SAFER Bay Project, which aims to protect neighborhoods from sea‑level rise and storm flooding through engineered levees, floodwalls, restored wetlands, and improved recreational trails. On paper, my role was community engagement. In practice, it meant learning how to listen: canvassing during the 5:00–7:30 pm window when parks and porches were lively, choosing homes with open doors or music drifting outside, and carrying paper surveys for elders who preferred pens over QR codes. It also meant showing up at community advisory meetings to hear how residents weighed trade‑offs around design, timeline, and funding.

I arrived as a math major who loves tidy models and crisp estimates. But I left with a messier, truer equation for public service, one that multiplied community trust and actionable goals. Trust showed up in unexpected places: a lady encouraging my coworker and me to ask the bleacher full of parents and families to take the survey when we were feeling timid; an elderly community member asking whether her flood insurance or the flood insurance of others was truly required; a resident reminding us that if water doesn’t care about city borders, coordination across jurisdictions isn’t optional.

My projects were different doorways into that same lesson. I designed bilingual flyers and infographics for the SAFER Bay survey. Translating scientific language into warm, plain Spanish took time (and help from colleagues), but the results mattered: 10% of our SAFER Bay survey responses came from online submissions, which meant neighbors who couldn’t attend pop‑ups or missed our canvassing still had a way to be heard. We added QR codes in English and Spanish to every flyer and had Chinese flyers on hand so language wouldn't be a barrier to participation.

Beyond surveys, I joined the outreach team, which entailed knocking on doors; hosting pop‑ups by churches, community centers, and parks in Belle Haven and East Palo Alto; and mapping completed blocks on Google Earth so we could see coverage in real time. We averaged 7–12 responses per two-hour session, but the real deliverable was the conversations themselves: worries about rising water, confusion over flood insurance requirements, questions about emergency preparedness (Where do we get flood kits? Who checks on seniors?), and a strong desire for clearer city‑to‑city coordination. Those threads shaped our practical ideas. We planned to schedule tabling alongside existing events, explain the science of projected 1.5‑foot sea‑level rise with visuals, partner on preparedness workshops, and keep outreach multilingual.

None of this was effortless. Some folks shut the door or declined to talk. A few told us bluntly that they didn’t trust projects to deliver. On the hardest days, our team leaned on role‑playing, debriefs, and a simple rule: stay warm, stay factual, and try again. The persistence paid off, not just in survey numbers, but in conversations that moved from skepticism to curiosity.

Another project took me behind the scenes. I dissected two 90‑minute EJ Academy seminar videos on air quality and water justice to build a facilitator’s script. The work was a lot of rewinding, transcribing, and translating Spanish to English. I was able to create something tangible that future presenters can use. In a program that relies on community educators, small tools like a clear script help good ideas travel farther.

Finally, I spent time with the Estuary Youth Council, supporting a monthly meeting and co‑creating four colorful posters to spark capstone ideas. Compared with reading a bland sheet of past projects, the visuals invited students to imagine their own. It felt like the youth counterpart to our outreach: meet people where they are, give them tools, and watch ideas multiply.

The big picture is easy to summarize (sea‑level rise, flood risk, equity) but this summer taught me to see the person in the policy. A flyer isn’t graphic design; it’s a bridge between jargon and a living room. A survey isn’t just data. It is a parent deciding to share a story before the game ends. A levee isn’t only infrastructure. It is a promise we build together, one conversation at a time.

Going forward, I want to work at that intersection where math meets people, translating complex systems into choices neighbors can weigh and making sure the communities most affected help decide what protection looks like. The evening whistles at the park will fade, but the lesson stays with me: progress begins when people feel invited to shape the plan and trusted to hold it accountable.

Belinda Castaneda is a junior majoring in mathematics and minoring in education. As a Partnerships for Climate Justice in the Bay Area (PCJ in the Bay) Fellow, she worked at Nuestra Casa supporting community outreach, water justice efforts, and climate adaptation projects in East Palo Alto and surrounding areas.