by Rachel Kelly Martinez

In the late 1970s, as El Salvador spiralled into a bloody civil war, my parents made an impossible choice—leave everything behind or risk being swallowed by violence. They settled in Washington, D.C., and a few years later, I was born. After my father arrived in America, he decided to carry on his father's religious devotion and became a pastor. As a result, I grew up in a conservative, loving home. Despite that, I was not allowed to visit friends' houses, participate in any extracurricular school activities, or celebrate major holidays and birthdays. My family’s cultural conservatism clashed with my American lifestyle, so in middle school, I started skipping school and was expelled from high school my senior year. While my family saw me as a rebellious teen, my actions reflected my inability to express my feelings, find my independence, and fight for the American life experience in a Salvadoran household. Cultural clashes and the lack of my parents’ assimilation in understanding the American education system greatly impacted my journey. 

In 2005, at 22 years old, I left my hometown with $1,000 and moved to New York City. I  followed my dream of graduating with a bachelor’s degree in Human Rights from Columbia University. My parents saw my move to NYC as foolish because I had no funds to pay for school and hadn’t received my acceptance letter yet. Nonetheless, I firmly believed I would be accepted. Two months after my arrival, I received my rejection letter. Columbia was kind enough to give me an exit interview and informed me of what I could do differently to reapply. During the interview, the admissions staff explained that I would need to return to community college and redo two years of school to raise my GPA. For me, this recommendation was out of the question because I had already spent four years in community college. I walked out of the appointment and stood on the campus steps, utterly broken and crying— you know, that type of crying after your parents whip your butt, and you start hyperventilating. Some of you will know what I am talking about. As I rode the subway from Manhattan back home to the corner of the room I was renting in Brooklyn, I saw an ad on the train for an open house for another university. I went to the open house. I applied and got in, and this school accepted my credits from my community college. After working on my undergraduate degree for eight years, I finally graduated 2008 from Marymount Manhattan College. 

In 2016, I completed a Masters degree from George Washington University’s Elliot School of  International Affairs. I told myself I would never go back to school. However, in 2022, while living in Germany, I learned about the possibility of attending Columbia’s School of International and Public Affairs (SIPA) through a fellowship program that guaranteed a career as a foreign service officer with USAID. I applied, but I was not selected. Again, I put the idea of obtaining a degree from Columbia University behind me. However, on March 14, 2023, I received an acceptance and a scholarship letter from Columbia University! I wasn't accepted into the fellowship, but SIPA admitted me separately, providing hope that I could break into the humanitarian field. 

In August 2023, I started a master's degree in International Affairs with a concentration in Humanitarian Policy. At SIPA, I have learned from thought-provoking Professors with practical, real-world experiences. Professors Elazar Barkan, among others, taught me the importance of historical memory and how historical narratives influence reconciliation efforts post-conflict. He also introduced the class to the African-American Redress Network, an organization fostering reparations for historical racial injustices in the United States. 

I finally met a woman working in the international humanitarian field, Professor Kristele Younes. She taught us about the United Nations Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (OCHA). In her course, I studied the international humanitarian response system—the international frameworks, principles, and players—examining whether the frameworks are still relevant and researching the challenges that impact humanitarian responses today. Likewise, Professor Ezequiel Heffes taught us about the complexities surrounding humanitarian collaboration with non-state armed actors to deliver aid and the fundamental principles driving these relationships. He exposed us to Geneva Call, an incredible organization working with non-state armed actors to protect civilians. 

Furthermore, Prof. Marc Jacquand taught us about the United Nations Department of Safety and Security (UNDSS), which provides risk and security assessments to UN staff and UN programming worldwide. I am grateful for the grace and patience that Professors Groll, Davitaia, Cojoc, and Apple showed me. I’ve wanted to enter the international humanitarian field for many years, and I had kinda given up the idea. My Columbia education reignited my passion to enter this field by exposing new viewpoints on global affairs and introducing me to humanitarian organizations I had never encountered before. 

Like my parents, who felt like outlines when they arrived in America, I, too, have experienced life as an outlier. However, the risk-taking, faith-inspired drive that led them to America significantly influenced my determination and resilience. The feeling I had so strongly at 22 years old about Columbia University was right—I was just off by 20 years. The memory of crying on campus is replaced with graduation tears because on May 20, 2025, I will graduate from Columbia University. Thank you, God.