�鶹��Ժ

Mia Torres’ menstrual justice project grows into policy change

  I thought, 'How can this happen here in the U.S.A? There has to be something I could do.'"

When Mia Torres was in sixth grade, her older sister shared disturbing information—many girls worldwide miss school due to lack of access to sanitary products during their period.
 
From an early age, Torres felt the urge to do something about injustices she learned about or witnessed. Growing up in El Sereno, a small community in the Los Angeles, California metropolitan area, Torres was also concerned about the well-being of the unhoused community. So, one night she told her family she wanted to start a project distributing free menstrual products to unhoused women.
 
“I think I shocked my family,” she said. “It wasn’t a big talk or anything—it was just a little dinner conversation.” 
 
That small idea grew into a large initiative during Torres’ middle school years. She saved money, including her father’s cash tip money that he donated to her, to purchase menstrual products from the dollar store. The young activist and her mother delivered donations to people along major thoroughfares and downtown L.A. Torres’ project expanded with attention and donations from supporters. 
 
“It got to the point where our house was full of donations,” she said. 
 
Imagine Torres’ surprise when she, then a ninth grader, found herself without a pad or tampon when she got her period during math class. 
 
“Of course, me! Why wouldn’t I have any supplies with me?” she questioned the irony.
 
She went to the nurse’s office, where she discovered the school charges $1 per sanitary pad. After searching for money in her backpack and locker, she found a friend who gave her a pad, and she finally returned to class. 
 
“When I got home, I was really upset,” she said. “That pad cost a dollar. I usually have money, but I attended a Title I school, meaning the school is low income. Many students probably don’t have money, and a dollar is kind of ridiculous for one pad.
 
“I was upset that I missed my learning time, and I thought back to that conversation about the girls missing class in other countries. I thought, ‘How can this happen here in the U.S.A.? There has to be something I could do.’”
 

  I felt this whole wave of emotions in my body—that’s what I want to do! I feel like the major is so broad that I’m able to do almost anything with my degree at the end.”

Soft-spoken but driven, Torres expanded her project, affectionately titled No Period Left Behind, to provide free menstrual products in her school and neighboring middle and high schools in the L.A. Unified School District (LAUSD), the country’s second largest district.
 
Yet, she wanted to reach the entire district, with over 1,000 schools and 500,000 students, after conducting a survey finding 20 percent of LAUSD students reported lack of access to menstrual products.
 
The school board took notice, and Torres helped write proposed policies making products free districtwide. At the same time, lawmakers were considering similar state legislation, and again, Torres shared her knowledge. During her senior year both policies passed. She was elated.
 
“While I was doing the project, my biggest worry was what’s going to happen when I go to college,” she said. “When it (legislation) passed, I remember being so thankful.”
 
Community is important to Torres, and she initially did not plan to leave L.A. for college. However, the isolation from the pandemic led to an itch to explore. She was drawn to CU Boulder’s beautiful campus and its unique Leadership and Community Engagement major in the School of Education.
 
“I felt this whole wave of emotions in my body,” she said upon learning about the program, which combines leadership development and community activism to create social change.
 
“That’s what I want to do! I feel like the major is so broad that I’m able to do almost anything with my degree at the end.”
 
The sophomore could not have predicted that an idea over dinner would blossom into policy change, and her next steps after graduation, and likely graduate school, remain exciting mysteries as well. But altruistic work is in the cards for this community leader.
 
“When I was applying to colleges, I didn’t know what I wanted to do or be, but I always say, ‘I just want a job where I can help people.’”