Can you introduce yourself and tell us about your background?

I’m Melisa Martinez, a PhD candidate in the LILAC program at the Graduate Center, City University of New York (CUNY). I originally began my doctoral studies at Temple University in Philadelphia but later transferred to the Graduate Center. I am from Colombia and prior to moving to the United States, I lived in Colombia for my entire life. I completed my undergraduate degree there in literature, with a focus on Latin American literature. 

I’ve been in the U.S. for about seven or eight years now. The numbers sometimes blur, but it’s been roughly that amount of time. I came here to pursue my PhD directly, without completing a master’s degree. Although, in many ways, my first two years at Temple felt like a master’s program due to the structure and nature of the coursework.

My life has always centered around being a student. I was fortunate growing up—my father worked for the national oil company in Colombia, and through his employment, I had access to educational support that allowed me to focus exclusively on my studies without the financial pressures of needing to work. That changed when I came to the U.S., where part of my fellowship included teaching responsibilities.

I have two siblings—a brother and a sister—and I’m also an aunt to a niece and a nephew. Both of my parents still live in Bogotá, and I try to visit them as often as I can.

Can you talk more about your research project and dissertation?

My dissertation explores contemporary Colombian fiction written between 2016 and 2023, a period that coincides with the peace process between the Colombian government and the FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia). The peace accord was signed in 2016, following lengthy negotiations. It marked the formal end of a decades-long armed conflict and was a significant milestone in Colombia’s political and social history.

As part of the peace accord, several institutions were created to address the legacy of the conflict—one of them being the Truth Commission. The Commission was tasked not only with gathering testimonies from across the country but also with using artistic and cultural tools to help communities process trauma and reconstruct the social fabric damaged by more than half a century of violence.

My research focuses on two key elements. First, I examine how contemporary fiction in Colombia responds to or engages with the post-conflict context and the broader cultural work being done by institutions like the Truth Commission. Second, I explore how fiction, as a form of imaginative expression, functions in relation to truth-telling. Fiction allows for a different kind of engagement with memory, trauma, and national history. It’s not necessarily bound by the same rules of factual accuracy as testimony or journalism, which makes it an intriguing site for exploring how truth can be represented, felt, and interpreted.

I’m particularly interested in the tensions, overlaps, and conversations between institutional narratives about art’s role in society and the narratives that emerge from fiction writers themselves. What does fiction do in the wake of conflict? How does it complement or challenge official discourses? These are some of the questions that drive my project.

What has your experience been like as a teacher?

I began teaching Spanish in 2018 as part of my graduate fellowship. Initially, I taught at Temple University in Philadelphia, and later, at various CUNY campuses in New York. Spanish instruction is typically the teaching assignment for graduate students in my field.

When I started, I had no previous teaching experience, and the pedagogical training we received was limited. It was a bit like being thrown into the deep end—you figure things out as you go, which is both empowering and deeply challenging. There were high expectations, but not always the support needed to meet them. It felt unfair at times—both to us as instructors and to the students we were teaching.

The first few semesters were especially difficult. I often wonder how effective I really was in those early days. Teaching is complex; learning doesn’t always happen in straightforward or immediate ways, but there are definitely better and worse ways to engage students. Over time, I began to develop a deeper understanding of what teaching entails—not just in terms of classroom management or lesson planning, but also in terms of pedagogical philosophy.

Programs like the Humanities Alliance and conversations with peers helped me think more critically about pedagogy. I started to reflect not just on what I was teaching, but on who my students were and how their diverse backgrounds and responsibilities shaped their experiences in the classroom.

Can you describe how your students influenced your understanding of teaching?

My students have been incredibly diverse. In Philadelphia, many were traditional college students from various parts of Pennsylvania. Some commuted from surrounding towns to attend Temple. In contrast, my students at CUNY—particularly in Queens College and Lehman College in the Bronx—have often been immigrants or first-generation college students. Many of them work full-time jobs, care for family members, or navigate the complexities of living far from their home countries.

This diversity profoundly impacted how I understood the university system in the U.S. and the role of public education. In Colombia, public universities have a different set of conditions and community dynamics. Here, I began to see how public education intersects with social and economic inequalities.

Through my students, I started to learn about financial aid systems, institutional structures, and the barriers students face beyond the classroom. It shifted my understanding of what it means to be an educator in a deeply unequal system.

Can you tell us about your experience with the Humanities Alliance (HA)? Why did you apply, and how has it impacted you?

I first learned about the Humanities Alliance through a graduate student conference in my department. A few students who were part of the fellowship shared their experiences, and that’s when I realized it might be a good fit for me. One of the faculty members involved in HA also encouraged us to consider applying.

At the time, I was teaching at Queens College, which was a long and exhausting commute from where I lived in Brooklyn. Through HA, I was able to shift my appointment and begin working at Guttman College and also continued teaching as an adjunct lecturer at Lehman College in the Bronx, which, though still far, was more manageable. More importantly, HA provided a space to engage deeply with pedagogical questions and institutional critique in a supportive community.

What drew me most to HA was the sense of solidarity and purpose. Teaching can feel isolating, especially when you’re trying to navigate bureaucracy and develop a teaching identity on your own. HA created a structured, reflective environment where I could think critically about my work and also feel less alone.

I didn’t produce a lot of “tangible” outputs, like toolkits or formal projects, but I had meaningful conversations, built relationships, and engaged in deep reflection. I came to understand myself differently as an instructor and scholar. That, to me, has been the most transformative part of the experience.

What kind of work did you do at Guttman Community College as part of the fellowship?

At Guttman, I was mentored by Ria Banerjee. During my first year, I was embedded in two of Nick Fortier’s classes—one focused on critical thinking and the other on civic engagement. I attended class sessions regularly, led a few of them, and organized a workshop in the second semester.

I also participated in the Big Read, a community reading initiative facilitated by faculty and staff. Although it was initially designed for students, it has evolved into a broader forum for faculty engagement. I helped lead a session, joined discussions about the selected text, and collaborated with other fellows to plan the sessions.

A lot of my work involved observation, reflection, and dialogue. Ria encouraged us to think metacognitively about our experiences—what we were seeing, what we were learning, how students were engaging. It wasn’t always about producing artifacts, but about developing insights that could inform our broader teaching philosophies.

You’ve mentioned sometimes feeling like you weren’t doing “enough.” Can you elaborate on that?

Yes, there’s often a pressure to produce visible outcomes—to create projects, organize events, write reports. I sometimes felt inadequate because I wasn’t generating as many “outputs” as some of my peers. But I’ve come to realize that impact isn’t always measurable in material terms. My experience was about transformation—about shifting how I see my role as an educator and scholar, about building community, and about imagining new possibilities for myself.

Can you share more about your decision to pursue training as a doula?

The Humanities Alliance gave me the space to think expansively about my life and work. It allowed me to imagine alternate futures and identities beyond academia. Conversations with my cohort and mentors helped me feel that pursuing something different wasn’t a betrayal of my academic path—it was an extension of it.

My grandmother was a nurse, and I’ve always admired her compassion and commitment. When my father was ill, I spent a lot of time in hospitals and was deeply moved by the work of nurses. At one point, I considered becoming a midwife but in the US that requires going to nursing school. 

Eventually, I discovered doula work and felt it aligned more closely with my interests—supporting people through care, connection, and embodied knowledge. It’s hands-on, relational, and community-based. Last year, I took the courses for the certificate program, and this year, I began my practice with clients. It’s been a fulfilling journey and one that I understand as part of my time in the Humanities Alliance. 

This interview was conducted by Mehrnaz Moghaddam, Humanities Alliance Communication Fellow.