SARA KARP: I turn to them and say something along the lines of, "Guys, we just talked "to a congresswoman about climate education.

We are so cool!"

OMAR MOHUDDIN: The more and more that I'm talking about it, and the more I'm hearing about the discrepancies in our public school system, and the lack of resources for our first responders, the more inclined I am to run.

I'm not just any engineer.

I'm also a Mexican engineer.

And, I'm also a woman engineer.

WES HAZARD: Tonight's theme is "Youth Rising."

You can't help but notice that in the era we live in, youth voices are more powerful and resonant than perhaps they've ever been.

And tonight we're going to hear some of those voices share stories of ingenuity, audacity, advocacy, and transformation.

Tonight, we'll celebrate the power of youth and the waves they make on their path to greatness.

♪ ♪ KARP: My name is Sara Karp.

I am a 17-year-old junior in high school from Acton, Massachusetts.

And in the hours that I am not in school, I also am a youth climate organizer.

What would you hope to achieve when it comes to climate education in schools?

What would you love to see in that world?

We see climate change taught in science curriculums predominantly, right?

Like, people take an environmental science class, they learn about climate change.

I definitely view climate change as a really broad and kind of interdisciplinary issue, right?

Like, it is kind of covering so many aspects of society and touching, sort of, just so many parts of how our world operates, that to me, it doesn't make sense to kind of only teach about it in the context of the science.

And so, I would love to see climate change taught in history classes, in English classes.

Do you feel that storytelling is important to your work?

And, if so, how?

We build movements to fight and create new narratives.

And those narratives are produced by the stories that everybody is telling about their experiences.

And so, I definitely think we can't construct movements kind of without having an element of storytelling.

It's spring of my sophomore year of high school, and I am standing quite literally at the foot of our nation's capital.

I got my little professional outfit on, and I got one AirPod in playing a jazz beat that I tap my foot to as I wait.

And I feel so important.

You see, I was waiting for what felt like a penultimate moment in my young life as a climate organizer.

I, Sara Karp, was about to go lobby Congress.

Eventually, I pick up my things and, along with my fellow high school-age lobbyists, navigate through a maze of congressional hallways to our first meeting of the day with Rep. Lois Frankel.

Slowly, I turn the knob on the door and we walk in.

30 minutes later, we walk back out, loudly high-fiving as we try to keep our chill, not trying to present as the starry-eyed kids who had just seen, really seen, national politics for the first time.

And yet, as we're alone in the elevator minutes later, I turn to them and say something along the lines of, "Guys, we just talked to a congresswoman "about climate education.

We are so cool!"

(laughter, smattering of applause) My next three days in D.C. pass in a whirlwind.

I feel this electric buzz of change all around me, and then, I leave.

My flight gets into Boston at around 11:00 P.M.

I drive home, walk into a quiet, dark house, and slump down at the kitchen table.

I love this kitchen table.

In many ways, I think that it is the reason that I made it to D.C. in the first place.

I grew up with two older siblings and a family that loved to talk politics, especially over dinner.

And as a really little kid, I hated this.

I was constantly whining at them to stop talking about politics.

But eventually, I grew tired of this and instead, turned to reading the news nightly to keep up with the dinnertime debates.

Through many of these debates, and also a love of cooking all the food we ate, I found my way to local farms and farmers markets.

And eventually, propelled by the notion that climate change was making it harder to feed our communities, I found my way to the climate movement.

And yet, tonight, in the comfort of a seat at this table, my heart starts to sink.

I have come home to a slog of school assignments that I have to make up.

And I have also come home to the reality of my very own climate education campaign in shambles.

Months earlier, as part of my fellowship at the nonprofit Our Climate, I had helped write this bill to get climate change taught in our schools here in Massachusetts.

And let's just say, the advocacy process was not going exactly as I had planned.

(laughter) We had multiple versions of the bill drafts, and I was getting lots of emails from confused partner organizations.

Unfortunately for me, there was no clear campaign plan that had magically appeared in my Google Drive while I was away.

I let out a light groan.

I had just left D.C., and already I could feel myself searching for the next D.C.

The next moment that would feel big and exciting, that would affirm why I was even doing this in the first place.

And so, over the next couple of months, I'm continuing to plug away at the campaign.

We're getting some small wins, and I'm not celebrating them because I'm too busy daydreaming about bigger wins.

Like, I had this vision of a coalition that would bring together students, teachers, everybody involved in our schools to help plan for the effects of climate change on our schools.

Everything from, yes, teaching about climate change in the classroom, but also, drafting plans for how we transport students to and from school during periods of intense flooding.

I had actually been talking to some folks who seem to share in this vision.

And so by summer, I find myself on a Zoom call.

I'm now an employee of Mass Audubon and we're all kind of just staring at this blank document.

We're trying to figure out, so how exactly does someone go about creating a coalition like this?

I learned the hard way that the answer to that question would not be my next D.C.

The first few months of the coalition-building process were agonizingly slow.

And so, on many days, "organizing" looks like this: I am sitting at my computer and I am retyping the same five sentences of our vision statement over and over just trying to get this thing in my head onto paper.

And at the end of many of those days, I just want to slam the computer shut and go, "I quit!

I'm done.

I walk away."

And I know then, and I know now, that I wasn't being serious.

I had said this statement too many times for it to mean anything, other than the fact that my search for D.C. was not sustainable.

And so, I go on Christmas break.

I don't think about work.

And I come back in early January to a long list of outreach emails that I need to send.

And so, on a rainy, cold Thursday, I drive myself home, I pull a chair up to the kitchen table, and I get ready to send those emails.

I notice about a half hour in that I'm kind of smiling to myself as I type.

I'm smiling because a girl that I met on the Governor's Youth Council just filled out our coalition interest form.

And also, I'm replying to a teacher that I met a year ago at a climate conference.

She is so excited about the work our coalition is doing.

I'm starting to realize that we do not build movements with lobby trips to D.C. We build movements by writing documents and spreadsheets.

We build movements by creating community and sharing the load of this work.

We build movements by sitting at the kitchen table.

I click "send," and I think maybe, I have found my next D.C.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) ♪ ♪ MOHUDDIN: My name is Omar Mohuddin.

I'm a 20-year-old from Woburn, Massachusetts, and I currently am studying business administration at Northeastern University.

I know that public speaking is a skill that you've been honing for a while.

- Mm-hmm.

- Can you tell me about the first time you really realized the power of your voice?

I'd have to say it was some point in middle school, really, where we were doing kind of play speeches in class, and I realized that people were really drawn in to what I was saying, and I was able to speak my mind.

And it really inspired me to keep going with that.

What would be your advice to young people who might be thinking about, you know, aspiring to a leadership role but might be hesitant to step into the spotlight?

What should they have in mind?

I think the biggest piece of it is that, there's no real failure.

Just the fact that you stood up and went for it.

It's something that a lot of people will not ever do.

And being able to put yourself in those positions will grow yourself; but also make people realize, the type of person you are.

And you'll see growth amongst the community you're in, or the schools, wherever it may be.

And you'll be able to look back and be proud of what you've completed, even if the turnout isn't exactly what you were expecting.

♪ ♪ It's 02:00 A.M., in a college dorm room in Boston, and I'm telling my two friends that I'm going to run for mayor in the city of Woburn, just nine miles north of Boston.

(chuckles) I know.

(laughter) I'm 18 years old at the time, so they question if it's even legal, and they think I'm absolutely crazy.

I sit with more friends, family, and even my boss at work, and they have the same hesitations.

What about school?

What about your age?

Is this the right choice?

But the more and more that I'm talking about it, and the more I'm hearing about the discrepancies in our public school system, and the lack of resources for our first responders, the more inclined I am to run.

So now we're standing outside my old high school, where I was class president, and it's the night of my campaign kickoff party.

I decided to have it at the high school because I wanted to pay respect to the educators and administrators who had paved the way for me.

That night, I prepared a very long speech and... ...was feeling very excited because I had over a hundred people come out listening to what I had to say, and showing support for the things that I cared about.

But at the end of the night, when we counted the money that we raised, not only did we not raise a lot of money, we actually lost money because of that event.

(laughter) And it was pretty tough.

I questioned if I made the right choice and if friends and family were right about me running.

But a few friends and mentors reminded me of former President Obama, who was able to put together a campaign with over two million volunteers across the country.

Knocking on doors for him, calling voters, spreading the word about his campaign.

So I decided to do that.

I brought along a ton of student volunteers.

They were knocking on doors for me.

They were calling voters.

The community was coming out.

People were listening.

We kept costs as low as possible, and I was feeling pretty good.

But I also knew it wasn't going to be an easy race.

I was going up against the incumbent, who has been in office for about 14 years, and a city councilor, who had been in office for about a decade.

On top of that, I was campaigning at weird hours outside of my 9:00 to 5:00, while also trying to make sure I was getting my homework in on time.

(soft laughter) But, as hectic as it was, I made a point to get out in front of the community, make sure that they knew who I was and make sure they knew what I was doing.

And I remember once attending the grand opening of the new fire station, and then immediately rushing to work right after.

And it was at that event that I bumped into James.

James is a Black man, a local pastor, and a father of one of my former wrestling teammates.

James was running for school committee in the city of Woburn.

He had come to me and said he was inspired by what I was doing and made the decision to announce that he was going to run.

And in the city of Woburn, James and I were the only people of color standing for office.

So whenever I was discouraged or questioning the choices that I made, I went to James and he would tell me, stand by what I was doing and to keep going.

So now, it's election day.

We're up very early, calling voters, and making sure the word was out.

We were even driving voters to the polls where volunteers were holding bright blue signs that said "Omar for Mayor."

And at the end of the night, I stood in City Hall, and I waited for my volunteers at the polls to text me the results.

And I remember 8:05 P.M., all the texts started flooding in.

And I've always been especially good at math, but I couldn't comprehend what the numbers meant to me.

I understood, they came through when I was reading them, but I wasn't understanding because they were telling me that I lost.

And it was incredibly devastating.

Especially, because up until that point, I hadn't truly failed at anything.

And later that night, I was at home, I was reflecting, and I was thinking about the choice that I made.

The decisions that...

I was going through the entire campaign.

...and if I made the right choice to even run at all.

I felt like I let my supporters down and I wasn't able to stand for the things that I believed in.

But the campaign meant more to me than I was even willing to admit.

I felt like I needed to win, because the choices that people like me make need to be the right ones.

It became pretty clear to me early on that I wasn't starting in the same place as most people.

I'm one of four sons to a single mother who's an immigrant from Somalia, and we've lived in public housing our entire lives.

We've constantly relied on help from others to get by day-to-day.

I specifically remember being jealous of the kids during holidays, and they were posting their MacBooks and iPads, and dreaming of having those things myself.

But over time, MacBooks became cars, and cars became generational wealth.

Because truly, it wasn't about the object itself.

It wasn't about buying a flashy car, but having the ability to do so.

That choice was what was motivating me to do what I believed I had to do to succeed.

And after observing other wealthy people in this country, I saw one of the fastest ways to succeed was to be seen.

Being in the public view, whether it's a celebrity, a politician, a business owner, it gave you a power.

And that power led to opportunity and success.

And so part of the reason that I ran was to fast-track that pathway and give myself that opportunity.

But since I had lost, I felt like I failed.

And I was a step away from breaking the cycle of poverty and setting myself up for success.

But over time, I came to realize that I didn't truly fail.

Yes, I lost the election, but I won in other ways.

A couple months after my campaign, I was able to celebrate with James, as he became the first elected person of color in the city of Woburn.

I was also able to express my advice and my experiences with other youth who were getting involved in the political system and wanted to hear about my campaign, and what I was doing.

And as for being seen, I'll never forget, I was at an MLK Day event at my former high school, and a young girl came up to me, and she said, "Are you the mayor of Woburn?"

(laughter) (cheers and applause) And I said, "No."

And it especially hurt because standing right next to me was the actual mayor.

(laughter) But it felt good... priceless even, to know that that young girl saw someone like myself as a leader.

Thank you.

(cheers and applause) ♪ ♪ PEREZ: I'm Beatriz Perez.

I'm a Mexican American electrical engineer.

I'm originally from Tulsa, Oklahoma, and I now live in Cambridge, Massachusetts.

I'm curious, what led you into a career in engineering?

When I was a little kid, I absolutely loved math.

That was my whole personality.

I was known as The Math Girl.

But math is really all we really had in elementary and middle school.

We never had any other different electives to explore.

And it wasn't until high school that I got introduced to engineering and actually figured out that I could do math and not have to be a math teacher.

(laughs) So I really loved engineering, and I loved the building and creating aspect of it, and also being able to do math as well.

And once our audience does hear your story tonight, what would you hope that they keep with them after listening to it?

Yeah, so my story is about girls in STEM.

So I hope, at least the girls who are listening, can start to learn to be themselves in STEM and not have to worry about what other people think.

♪ ♪ I am flying back to Oklahoma to see my family for Christmas.

When I say Christmas, you may be thinking of warm milk and cookies, maybe even matching PJs for the family.

But, I'm a Latina, and if that's what you're expecting for Christmas, you're in the wrong house.

Let me set the picture of a traditional Perez Mexican family Christmas.

There's the loud music that'll keep your ears ringing for the next few days, the crazy kids running around causing chaos, the loud aunts belting their passionate Spanish love songs on their karaoke mics, and at least one drunk cousin slurring his words with a red Solo Cup in hand.

(smattering of laughter) It's a party, but more than a party, it is a glam runway.

So if you think you're showing up to the Perez party in Christmas PJs?

Think again.

Tight dresses, blingy jewelry.

Basically, the Mexican Met Gala.

So... (smattering of laughter) When I walk in there Christmas Day with nails undone, hair barely brushed, and a good book in hand to read?

I might as well have changed my last name and walked myself out.

Starting in third grade, my love for math and science blossomed.

My eyes glowed up when I thought of all the things I could build and create, never for what I was going to wear or how I was going to do my hair.

Hours I probably should have spent sleeping or studying for tests, were spent teaching myself engineering and learning how to program a robot to turn the light switch off and on in my room so I didn't have to get out of bed at night.

It bothered me that there were often compliments for looks and beauty in my family, but very rarely for intelligence and ambition.

And tonight, as I walk in unglammed to that Christmas party, I feel like an outsider.

You know, I kind of wish I had dressed up a bit.

And if I'm honest, I feel pretty ugly right now.

So when my 14-year-old cousin comes up to me telling me all about her new lash tech certification she just got two weeks ago, I'm intrigued.

And before I know it, I'm laying on the hard, flat table for two hours, getting tiny synthetic hair glued into each and every one of my eyelash strands.

It is a long and very uncomfortable process.

But beauty is pain, as they say.

When my lashes are done getting plumped and glammed, I honestly don't really know how I feel about them, and I'm not sure if they're me.

But what I do know, is I'm on cloud nine with the compliments I'm getting from my friends and my family.

I feel beautiful.

I feel validated.

I feel feminine.

It's all fun and games, until it isn't.

A week later, I'm on my way back to Boston, waiting in the Dallas airport for my plane to board.

New Year, new me, happily living in the blissful feeling of beauty radiating all from my luscious lashes when it hits me, I have to get these off.

(laughter) I, Beatriz Perez, cannot go into work with these eyelashes on.

The thing is, I'm an engineer.

But I'm not just any engineer, I'm a young 23-year-old engineer.

I'm also a Mexican engineer.

And I'm also a woman engineer.

And thanks to these lashes here today, I am emphasis on women engineer.

(laughter) I remember my male classmates in third grade, dissing the girls that dressed up, calling them bubbleheads and ditzy.

And suddenly I wondered and worried whether my coworkers would see me as a ditz.

The panic set in as they call, "Boarding Group Four."

I'm pacing through the jet bridge, frantically Googling, "how to remove eyelash extensions quickly."

The fear of losing all my real eyelashes, or even making myself partially blind with the D.I.Y.

remedies, eventually made me stop Googling.

The next morning, I'm standing in front of my closet, trying to figure out what to even wear to work, when I notice the split right down the middle.

There's the t-shirts and jeans on the left and the dresses on the right.

There's the engineering me, the one who works all day wiring electronics and analyzing circuit board schematics, trying to fit in with my male coworkers, my male mentors, my male bosses.

And then, there's the after-work me.

The woman who likes to dress up once in a while.

Without a second thought, I pull on my familiar jeans and t-shirt, hoping the toned-down wardrobe will maybe draw a little less attention to myself.

Defeated, I walk into work.

I make sure to keep my head down with a very shy and shameful "Hi" as I pass my coworkers.

The once upon a time validation, beauty, and femininity that I got from my lashes has struck the exact opposite today.

I feel like an outsider.

As I am lost in thought, a ping on my phone suddenly reminds me that the all-team meeting will be happening in the conference room soon.

So as I walk into that conference room, I sit down next to my 12 coworkers, ten of which are male, and...

...I wonder if they're looking at me.

I can't tell if it's a, "Oh, did you get a new haircut?

Something looks different" look.

Or if it's judgment?

Are they avoiding eye contact?

And it is in this moment that I realize that I have already lost so much with these eyelash extensions.

The ability to be lost in doing what I love.

My mind is so preoccupied with wondering how people are reacting to my eyelashes that I'm less engaged in my meeting.

I'm less concentrated on doing the things that I love.

I'm not building, I'm not creating, and I'm not investing my mind fully in doing my engineering job.

The job that I love and worked so hard to get.

Interestingly, outside of work, I've been mentoring young girls entering STEM for eight years now.

I teach them about math and science and binary and robotics.

And yet, I have failed to teach them what it's actually like to be a woman in STEM, and how to navigate those little things that build up and up, and how they can eventually stop girls from fully immersing themselves in doing what they love.

And if I'm honest, it's because I'm still trying to figure it out myself.

I don't want to feel like there needs to be an engineering me, and then, an after-work me.

In the end, I didn't try to forcefully take my eyelash extensions out.

But it did take me four more days to not let them distract me anymore.

But just like any science experiment, I see this as progress.

And my hope is the future girls in STEM won't even have to bat an eyelash thinking about what they look like, and they can just focus on enjoying the science.

(cheers and applause) ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪